


my love, my heart, is breathing for this moment

by aleunia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Coming Out, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian Character, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Overdosing, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, this work is solidly anti-simon and anti-modest, you'll see why i tagged that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 148,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleunia/pseuds/aleunia
Summary: "They'll kill us," Louis argued weakly. "We won't be allowed within a ten-metre radius of each other for another stupidly long length of time."To Harry, it didn't matter. He had a feeling it didn't matter to Louis either, so Harry shook his head."Stay with me," he murmured, voice trembling. "Please."Or: A look into the journey of the past ten years of Harry and Louis growing up and falling in love. Together.
Relationships: Gigi Hadid/Zayn Malik, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne - Relationship
Comments: 47
Kudos: 102





	1. 9th July 2010 - 3rd September 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oops.”
> 
> Louis looked to his left and saw a boy standing there, all trembly and timid looking, zipping up his pants hurriedly with watery eyes from the embarrassment.
> 
> His first thought was, in all seriousness, ‘what the fuck, he’s so pretty’. This boy who he didn’t even know was horrifyingly pretty for a fifteen – fifteen? Louis wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t have been older than sixteen – year old, and Louis couldn’t hold an ounce of disliking for him.
> 
> “Hi,” Louis said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody. If you've read any of my other works, you're probably accustomed to my writing being very feelings/emotion-heavy and dark, and this is no different - if not darker. A lot has been going on in my life and I needed a moment to write from my heart once again and this was the result of an idea following my immediate reaction after I first listened to Walls back when it was originally released. It's so raw and open and I'm so incredibly proud of Louis and so thankful for him. This singular fic has been almost an entire year in the making, and here we finally are. An extreme TW for suicide attempts and notes, alcohol and drug abuse, self-harm, among other intense topics. So please, if that triggers you, steer clear of this fic.
> 
> So, so much love to my absolutely incredible support person, Ady, for helping me get through the tough parts of writing this fic and everything else going on in my life right now. Thank you so so incredibly much darling for proof-reading, feedback giving, giving me huge inspiration to keep going when I was having lows, and general betaing and friendship-ing. I love you eternally.
> 
> Now, if you're staying to read, enjoy. <3

PART ONE – 2010 (X-Factor)

++++

_(9 th of July)_

It was 10:33pm in the quiet town of Holmes Chapel, and Harry Edward Styles was perched on his roof, admiring the flickering stars.

The streets were quiet surrounding his house, the silence only interrupted in brief moments when the breeze got just that little bit too strong and ruffled an object with enough force to produce noise. It was a fascinating time of the night – a time where there was nothing exciting, nothing distracting, and a time where somebody could focus entirely on _themselves._

His mother – Anne Cox – would definitely be horrified if she were to discover her son on the roof of their house as late at night as it was. It didn’t matter how often Harry protested her overprotective mothering – she never liked Harry leaving the house after dark ( _‘Mum, I’m sixteen, I don’t need a full-time babysitter, even if it’s you! I love you, but seriously, this is ridiculous.”)_ and absolutely despised heights – or anything that could possibly endanger Harry, at all, and Harry would most-definitely earn himself a lengthy lecture if he were to be discovered. Gemma usually covered for his shenanigans – not without complaint, mind you, stating that Harry should be able to look after himself enough that he didn’t _need_ cover – and did so flawlessly, but she’d gone to bed before Harry had gotten home from Katelyn’s place – his absolute best-friend in the entire world – and he didn’t possess the desire to be murdered if he woke his rather aggressive sister from her slumber.

Harry loved the stars, though, so he didn’t care much for the possible consequences. He loved the pure and innocent beauty of them – the shining whiteness that decorated the midnight blue sky. He wouldn’t miss the sight for the world, even if he received a seemingly endless lecture from his mum later, because the glittering night above him was too beautiful to ever really ignore.

Call him cringy and cliché, but Harry would happily spend most of his life stargazing. It made him feel _small,_ and he loved it – loved it _so much._ Loved the feeling of being small and unimportant in such a bustling world because it meant he could disappear into the peaceful moments of his life without consequence.

How could his fears, so irrelevant and small, amount to anything in comparison to the endless stretches of the stars? How could one song, _one damn song,_ be such a struggle to select for his X-Factor audition in just over _fourteen hours,_ when the stars had to cover the entire night sky?

_Fourteen hours, song, audition. Fourteen hours, song, audition._

Breathe in for one, two, breathe out for one, two, three. Repeat, repeat, _repeat._ Keep breathing, keep breathing, _keep breathing._ Don’t panic, don’t let it overwhelm, _don’t_. He shouldn’t be panicking, when he had his diary, the breeze ruffling pages and pages of song options with their details, main chords and vocal notes listed underneath so he could choose something that would fit his voice so nicely that the judges would have no option but to say _yes, yes, yes,_ and to pass him on to _Simon Cowell_ and a chance at making it, really fucking _making it._

His diary with the fancy yet worn black leather covers was usually just full of drafts of poems and songs he hoped to one day compose and perform – _if_ he ever made it, Christ – but the two-spread page he’d created to help himself decide on a song for his audition was a big contrast to that. It wasn’t scrawled lyrics and poetry lines of cringe and love – it was a well-formed list of music that ranged from things he loved to things that suited his vocal range, even if he didn’t particularly like the tunes, or anything.

His phone buzzed insistently on the roof beside his thigh and Harry spared a glance at the device, smiling fondly.

_Katie <3_

_U chosen a song yet ? Do I need to_

_intervene & help ?_

In all honesty, Harry was quite proud of himself so far. Having never been much good at decision making, he usually left all of those little details for his parents to figure out, and he couldn’t deny that he was impressed he’d been able to eliminate many songs at all. He’d managed to narrow down the list from something like fifty or sixty tunes to twelve – having steadily eliminated things he knew he wouldn’t be motivated to sing, or practice, or do anything with. 

Lines were through the songs he’d discarded – some Elton hits he’d been considering and a number of Rihanna’s tracks that he’d only briefly considered being the prominent ones he’d decided against, alongside some songs from _The Beatles_ that he was too afraid of butchering to ever perform.

He typed out a quick reply to his friend, who was undoubtedly sitting cross-legged on her bed, home-alone, blasting music so loud she’d probably warrant her family yet another noise complaint from the neighbours and glaring at her phone as she waited for him to respond.

_think I’ve almost got one. Jus need_

_to like, think a bit more and then I’ll_

_have it. Will text if I need you xx_

_U better not be shitting me , Styles ._

_take care you idiot <3 love you. And _

_don’t fall off the roof . Anne will_

_blame me again and I don’t want that . x_

Harry giggled softly to himself because yes, it was true, Anne had originally blamed Harry’s late-night adventures on his more-than risky best-friend because, really, she _did_ have a substantial amount of influence over the green-eyed boy.

_“Isn’t she lovely,” Katelyn had drawled sarcastically after the two of them had been forced out of Harry’s house and to hers for the remainder of the day, thanks to Anne discovering Harry’s journal left on the roof from one of their hangouts and them smelling vaguely like cigarettes (Katelyn smoked sometimes, Harry always refused. He didn’t like tobacco). “Just lovely, Hazza. Usually I love your mum, but seriously? Do roof hangouts really warrant us being removed from your household for the evening? I mean, I get why I’d not be allowed in, but you? The one she’s worried about in the first place? Damn.”_

_Harry had laughed along with her then, getting out through a grin, “She worries about you too, you know. You’re just oblivious. But, okay, yeah, very lovely mother figure, Katie. So lovely and strict.”_

And _shit,_ it hit him like a damn _fire truck._

_Isn’t She Lovely._

It was highlighted in soft green ink near the middle of the left page in the two-spread, the highlighting something he didn’t even really remember doing but was glad he did anyway. The song was a personal favourite of his and Gemma’s, something the two would always dance about in the kitchen and the bedrooms and the bathrooms to, using hairbrushes as microphones and belting out the lyrics so loudly that Anne had once received a scolding from the neighbours, asking her to control her children (Harry had argued that it wasn’t _that_ bad, especially since Katie had only gotten two noise complaints and she blasted music like no tomorrow. Anne had rolled her eyes fondly at her son and told him to go to bed).

It was more than just a bit of fun to Harry, though. It made him think – made him envision a future of a beautiful house, something like a cottage in the most akin to forestry area in Hollywood Hills, pristine in every element, his partner’s soft arms looped around his waist with their cheek pressed to the back of his neck, skin warm and making Harry tingle from the tips of his fingers to his toes.

And the images of a certain pair of amused bright blue eyes and a gentle hand running through his curls would flash across his mind.

 _Isn’t She Lovely_ was a trigger song for the image of the life he wanted. He knew that.

But right then, he was just focused on trying not to have a panic attack under the endless stars.

_(10 th of July)_

Harry was rendered speechless almost immediately.

The backstage of the _X-Factor_ was absolutely _incredible._

 _If he hadn’t been with his mother, Harry would have described it as holy fucking shit. Okay, sure, it wasn’t the actual backstage, but it was at the same time._ It was the place where all the work was done, where all of the preparations were made, _behind the scenes_.

Louis would have loved it. Harry wondered if he’d ended up coming, like he said he would.

 _“I think ‘m gonna audition for_ X-Factor _next year,” Louis told him confidently, the anxious hand running through his hair betraying how he really felt about it. They were crouched on the dirty bathroom floor at this point, as stupid teenage boys would do, but Harry didn’t particularly care for the hygiene of the place, considering.  
_

_“I think I actually have a chance, you know?” Louis continued, averting his eyes from Harry’s and bringing his knees up a little closer to his chest. “A - - a friend of mine, Zayn, he said he’s gonna audition, right, and I’ve been working super hard, and like, I’ve already auditioned twice and got rejected, but I think - - “_

_“I heard you sing before, when your band was performing,” Harry interjected with a reassuring smile, shuffling closer. “You’re really,_ really _good. Awesome. I think you’d make it, easy. It was stupid of them to reject you originally. Like, seriously. Your vocals are_ insane. _”_

_Louis nudged him with a thankful smile, before he said, eyes glittering, “You should audition, too.”_

And here he was, auditioning.

Harry hoped. It was the best he could do.

He wondered if Louis’ friend was there, too.

The entire _X-Factor_ setup was insane and cool and _busy._ Full of people, rushing about their business with their stacks of paperwork and microphones and earpieces and looks on their faces akin to those of individuals suffering from intense panic attacks – yet somehow schooled into looking controlled, neat, professional.

It was hot and humid and sweaty and honestly kind of smelled, unkempt despite the constant use, but the buzzing electricity and excitement in Harry’s veins was so intense that he didn’t even care. He was in a room full of like-minded people, their energy and ecstatic behaviour fuelling Harry’s own – like they were all feeding off each other, sharing the same dream, the same _desire._

He was seated in a plush leather chair positioned against one of the scuffed black walls, arms resting on the cool wood of the sides as he watched his name ascend the list of the performance order, displayed on a huge television hanging high in the southernmost corner of the room. The curtain leading to the _real_ backstage – where you were taken right before your performance – was to the north in the room, a looming presence – _foreboding._

Gemma was in the seat on his left, his mum on his right while Katelyn and Tom – the three of them something of a trio at school – sat on the floor in front of them, cross-legged as they played _Uno,_ Katelyn showing off her absolutely solid poker face while Tom chewed nervously at his bottom lip, brows furrowed.

“You’re terrible at this,” Katelyn teased and Tom swatted her arm with his cards, a spluttered protest leaving his lips as an embarrassed flush took over his cheeks.

While his mum played with his hair, a useless attempt to fix the horribly messy curls and Katelyn beat Tom in _Uno_ yet _again, much to Tom’s dismay (although, he was laughing along with Katelyn, so it couldn’t have been too devastating to lose),_ Harry began to get jumpy. 

He could feel Gemma’s attention flickering from her phone to Katelyn and Tom to him every few minutes, making sure he wasn’t about to spontaneously combust, but that didn’t – _couldn’t –_ change the uneasy feeling in his stomach as the minutes of waiting stretched to hours and waiting slowly but surely transformed into worrying and _shit,_ Harry felt sick.

“Haz?” Gemma asked softly after a few more minutes of Harry silently stressing, nudging his elbow to get him to look at her. “You okay, love?”

Harry gave a sharp shake of his head before he stood up, earning a surprised yelp from Katelyn when he accidentally connected his ankle with her knee. “Sorry,” he mumbled to her, standing there awkwardly for a few moments before Katelyn reached out a gentle hand and – thanks to her incredibly lanky form warranting her long arms – brushed Harry’s own, a gesture of comfort. He could feel Anne and Gemma watching him carefully, could see Tom doing the same, and he needed to get out of there before he threw up.

“Bathroom,” he got out in a rush of one breath, already beginning to walk as he followed the directory signs, trying to regulate his uneven breathing as his hands began to tremble at his sides.

As he slid into the nearest bathroom, the silence hit him like a sweet, sugary rush of chocolate, soothing to his pounding head and shaking body. He moved over to the sinks and gripped the white porcelain surface so hard his knuckles turned white and his head turned to static as he flicked the tap on and let the water run for a few seconds. 

He dove his hands under the flow, cupped, so he could bring them up and throw the cool liquid on his face, the static in his head remaining so harsh and powerful that he didn’t even notice as the main door swung open and slammed into the wall with a _bang_ and a sound of surprise echoed through the white tiled room.

“Christ, this _door,_ terrible hinging - - holy _shit,_ what the _fuck -_ hi Curly!”

Oh _shit._ He’d recognise that voice anywhere, the memory so ingrained in his mind that he almost broke down into embarrassed and anxious tears right then and there, flicking the tap off and taking a few moments to just _breathe._ By some miracle, he restrained his overwhelming anxiety as the static retreated and he turned around, feeling his lips stretch into a shy and tired smile he didn’t give them permission for.

“Hi,” he mumbled, yelping in surprise as he was tackled into an embrace so hard he thought he wasn’t going to be able to breath properly ever again. “Been a while, _Louis Tomlinson_.”

Louis jolted in the embrace at the use of his full name, having feared Harry would’ve forgotten it, but his grin only widened to the put where it probably (definitely) looked creepy, trying to come back with a witty response and unsure of his success in the matter. “Well, you didn’t exactly give me your damn _number_ , or anything, _Harry Styles_ \- - “

“You didn’t give me _yours_ , either!” Harry protested weakly, but he was giggling as he tilted so his face was pressed against Louis’ neck, a warm and fuzzy feeling slowly but surely filling his lungs and heart, skin flushing a fragile, delicate pink.

“Not my _point_ here, _Harold,”_ Louis whined into Harry’s ear as he withdrew from the embrace, hesitance in every movement, and Harry was drowning, really fucking _drowning_ in the sharp blue of his eyes as soon as he looked up and they met.

They were so _beautiful –_ a thin ring of pale blue around the pupil, darkening to a sharp ice-blue that continued to darken ever so slightly the closer it got to the edge of each eye. The uniqueness was absolutely, incredibly _breathtaking._

Louis was getting lost in his mind, still spinning with _holy shit holy shit it’s Harry,_ and _damnit_ they met eyes and _holy shit,_ he couldn’t even really process the pure beauty of the stark green of Harry’s eyes – like polished emeralds you’d see in a jewellery store. So bright and shiny and wide and just… Just _fitting._ Absolutely, totally fitting the curly-headed boy like a perfectly sized shirt.

They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like forever, before Louis broke out into the most breathtaking grin of all time and murmured, “You okay? You look really anxious.”

Harry gulped a little, averting his gaze and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Just nervous for the audition,” he said quietly, hearing Louis hum in agreement where he was standing but not looking up to confirm it.

“Don’t beat yourself up over something that won’t happen,” Louis soothed, still smiling, and Harry could picture freakishly accurately how his fringe swooped down so low it almost brushed against his eyelashes. “You’re not going to get rejected, so there’s no point in worrying over it. Okay?”

Harry breathed out a little _okay,_ but still couldn’t look up. Louis tutted in the background, an affectionate sound, before he broke out into speech again and Harry relaxed at how sweet and thick Louis’ accented voice was.

“Didn’t think we’d ever meet again. And would you look at that – we’re in a bathroom, yet again. At least this time I don’t have your piss on my pants, yeah?”

Harry pouted like a little schoolboy and whined out, “ _Louis,_ shut _up,_ that was an _accident - -“_ And Louis burst into laughter while Harry tried to hide his face, which. Well. Louis couldn’t have that, could he?

So he reached up and tugged a hand through Harry’s curls, making him look up and see Louis’ broad smile and kind eyes as the elder of the two murmured affectionately, “Missed you, Curly.” 

Harry whispered a soft _‘same’_ before he averted his eyes, feeling a crimson flush rise on his cheeks. Okay, yeah, their reunion was so sweet, something he hadn’t even known he needed, but _holy fuck,_ Louis bringing up their damn meeting made the embarrassment slowly trickle back into his system, little by little.

Louis winked at him, knowing _exactly_ what he’d triggered.

_“Oops.”_

_Louis looked to his left and saw a boy standing there, all trembly and timid looking, zipping up his pants hurriedly with watery eyes from the embarrassment._

_His first thought was, in all seriousness, ‘what the fuck, he’s so pretty’. This boy who he didn’t even know was horrifyingly pretty for a fifteen – fifteen? Louis wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t have been older than sixteen – year old, and Louis couldn’t hold an ounce of disliking for him._

“ _Hi,” Louis said, amusement evident in his tone as he shot the curly-headed boy a reassuring grin, an attempt to get him more comfortable. “S’okay, mate. Not the first time s’happened to me.”_

_Harry froze in place, eyes wide as they flickered over Louis’ face hesitantly, taking in each little feature, the faint freckles and soft fringe and cute blue eyes, looking into those last features – the pristine blue like a damn ocean – like he wasn’t entirely sure if the older boy was serious._

_“Really?” He’d_ _asked, bewildered, voice small and slightly shaky. “That’s kinda gross, man. I feel bad for you.”_

_Louis’ eyes had scanned the younger’s body in that moment, smile widening fondly as he took notice of Harry’s messy curls, clearly uncontrollable. Harry had noticed immediately, shaking his head out, messing them up even more, eyes wide and shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously which. Well. Louis didn’t like the fact that this beautiful and adorable boy was so anxious he couldn’t stand still, so he did was he did best (but not really) – began to flirt (stupidly, of course, but his stupid flirting always made people giggle and loosen up, no matter what the situation was, so he considered it a kind of talent)._

_“I like your hair,” Louis confessed unabashedly, fixing his pants and belt before winking at Harry flirtatiously, causing the other boy to blush in a maddening manner, cheeks all pretty and pink and nose scrunched up timidly. “T-thanks,” he stuttered in response, shyly looking at the ground again and cracking his knuckles. “I, erm, I don’t really like it. I can never fix it. S’ annoying.”_

_Louis had just finished washing his hands as the boy had finished his sentence, and he frowned into the mirror at his reflection. He pointedly ignored his own horrendous hairdo, all over the place and messy and damp with sweat, hanging over his eyes unflatteringly as he peered over his shoulder to see the younger of the two still staring at the floor awkwardly, seeming to be waiting for Louis to leave._

_“Well, I like it,” Louis announced, putting on one of those cute little smiles that he usually reserved for family as he made his way back over to the boy and reached up to ruffle his curls, fingers lacing through the locks and tugging gently through the stray knots he’d managed to grab. The boy had made a small noise in surprise and frozen in place, before he’d leaned into the touch and giggled like a little kid, making Louis flush faintly pink in the cheeks, grinning at the reaction he’d drawn._

Louis _pulled back, hand dropping to fiddle with the hem of his shirt as he allowed his gaze to flicker over the boy’s face, before sticking his hand out, still smiling. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. Nice to meet you.”_

_The boy with the bouncing curls had grinned back and said, “M’ Harry, erm, Harry Styles. Nice to meet you too, Louis. But let me wash my hands before I touch yours. It’d be kinda gross not to.”_

_“Well, Harry Styles, I’m glad I was stood next to you at the urinals. If I had to get someone’s pee splashed on me, I’d much rather have your pee than somebody else’s.”_

Harry was jolted back into the present by Louis’ heavily accented voice. “I heard you practicing a few hours ago,” Louis admitted and Harry could still sense that godforsaken grin on the blue-eyed boy’s face. “You sound _amazing,_ Christ. Next big world sensation is _you,_ Harold. I mean, at least I have some blackmail to use against you to get what I want - - “ Harry spluttered, trying to retaliate, looking up to meet Louis’ eyes once more and seeing a distinctive hint of mischievousness in the blinding blue. 

“And then when you’re rich I get can you to buy me whatever I want or I’ll release the story of how we first met.”

Harry thought he understood what Louis was doing. Yes, Louis was a super affectionate and teasing person, but it was impossible to miss how jittery and anxious Harry was.

He was comforting Harry. _Christ,_ the curly-headed teen didn’t know how to react to that, but his heart swelled in his chest without his permission.

“You wouldn’t!” Harry gasped melodramatically in response to Louis’ faux threats of blackmail, biting his bottom lip to try and fend off his affectionate smile – failing miserably.

“Oh, I _definitely_ would,” Louis teased, grinning so wide his teeth were showing. “And you know it. And I want a photo of us as proof that I met you when you get famous and I’m stuck working at some shitty retail store.”

Harry was about to hit him as Louis pulled out his phone and snapped a quick and awkward shot of them both – or… Something, he doubted he’d actually hit him – when the PA system crackled to life and boomed through the bathroom. Harry yelped in surprise and Louis gripped his arm with a soft chuckle, quiet and amused, phone already tucked away in his pocket once more, the soft grip on his exposed skin making Harry flush all the way down to his chest and fold into Louis, even if he didn’t realise he was actually _doing_ that.

“All contestants please return to the backstage waiting area. Check-in roll call is commencing within the next five minutes. Thank you.”

The two boys shared a look and Louis let go of Harry’s arm as the younger slipped from his grasp, both of them breaking out into soft giggles.

“Race you back?” Louis suggested with a grin, but he was already out the door with Harry fast on his heels, shouting out a, “ _Lou,_ I _swear_ to _god!”_ To which Louis responded with a cackle and kept on running down the hallways, neither of them acknowledging the little nickname.

They arrived back to the main backstage section within three minutes, both of them panting as Louis skidded to a stop and Harry slammed into his back as he tried to stop and absolutely, totally failed. Louis was knocked forward and Louis gripped his shirt and pulled him back, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe properly and Harry had to brace himself against the nearest wall to collect himself.

“I win,” Louis panted, leaning against Harry with flushed cheeks and a wicked grin on his face.

“You had a head start - - “

“That _hardly_ matters - - “ They were closer now, Louis leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder as they caught their breaths, silence swimming between them while Harry tried to form a sentence to respond with.

“I still win,” Louis teased and Harry gave in with a soft smile, leaning his cheek atop Louis’ head with an affectionate sigh.

They hardly knew each other, yet they were already comfortable enough to do that. Harry marvelled at it, the purity of whatever they had.

Harry’s eyes flickered up to the big screen and he froze, seeing his name only two from the top – two slots away from performing. Louis followed his eyes and see exactly what he did, looping his arm up to card through Harry’s curls in a reassuring manner, making Harry’s eyes droop and a dopey smile cross his features. He could see his family and Katelyn and Tom where he’d left them, Tom and Katelyn playing some game that looked rather stupid while Gemma was showing their mum something on her phone – presumably, something that Gemma wanted to purchase. It was always something like that.

“I’m gonna go back to my family,” he murmured, slowly pulling away from Louis’ warmth, much to his displeasure – not that he’d voice that, or anything.

Louis smiled and shot him a thumbs up. “Good luck on your performance, Hazza,” he told the younger, already moving away, most likely back to his own group of people. Harry’s heart was full at the name, a pleasurable tingly warmth spreading throughout his body, making him scrunch his nose as he returned Louis’ thumbs up.

“Good luck to you too, when it’s your turn,” he called after Louis, who giggled and continued to walk away.

Harry smiled. And went back to his own group.

\--

Louis was grinning like an absolute fool as he returned to his mother, Lottie and best-friend Stan, twiddling his thumbs as he took his seat on the floor in front of Stan, his friend reaching out and smacking him on the head, making him yelp a little.

His day had been fairly productive that far along, mind a swirling storm of rich information. He’d already met a bunch of his competition, liked some of them well enough that they’d exchanged phone numbers and email addresses in the rare case of somebody not owning a phone (he’d met one kid called Liam – he thought, he couldn’t quite recall – that he’d thought was a little weird and wasn’t sure if he liked, but his brain was fluttering between topics faster than a wildfire leaping from tree to tree).

He yanked his phone from his pocket and flicked it open, immediately going to his camera roll and snorting so loudly at the photo he’d snapped of him and Harry that he could sense Lottie’s judgemental look burning through his bones. He was still trying to catch his breath from the sprint against the green-eyed boy, so he guessed he could excuse his flushed cheeks as a factor from that, but he also knew it came from how wide his smile was at the stupidly cute photo.

_Harry._

Louis couldn’t contain his joy as their reunion. Just couldn’t. How could somebody so full to the brim with excitement and joy possibly contain themselves?

It was like there was another heart inside of his regular one, beating ten times faster and more aggressively because he swore he could feel two pulses in his chest (or maybe he was just being a melodramatic son of a bitch, as per usual, but he’d never admit that, no).

Stan noticed immediately, shooting out a leg and kicking Louis in the shoulder, drawing another weird sound from him as he kicked out his own foot, slamming Stan in the shin. “Fuck you, man.”

“Louis,” Jay chided from her seat, not looking up from the book she was reading, brows furrowed in a frown – either at something in the book or Louis’ behaviour, he didn’t really know. “Language. We’re in public. And Lottie doesn’t need that type of influence.”

“Mum, Jesus, I say worse stuff that Louis sometimes - - “

“She’s not wrong - - “

“Irrelevant. Both of you, keep your language down here. Follow Stan’s mature example for once.”

“Hear that, Louis?” Stan teased with a borderline evil grin that made Louis want to plan some shit and start a whole riot. “Your mum thinks I’m mature.”

“She does _not,”_ Louis hissed and Jay sighed pointedly from her chair, a soft and fond smile on her face as she regarded the three teenagers once more. “I don’t think any of us want to bring down Louis’ chances at this because of poor mannerisms.”

Louis had a feeling his mother didn’t miss the pointed eye-roll he shot at Stan and the mouthed _‘wanker’_ , nor did she miss the attempt Stan made at muffling his laughter, but neither boy really minded as Louis shuffled closer to stan, lips still stretched in an overwhelmingly joyous smile.

“So,” Stan started, grinning from ear to ear, raising an eyebrow in question at his best-mate. “What’s gotten you so happy that it seems like you got laid?”

Louis didn’t wait to inform him, words bubbling up and overflowing from his lips before he could think twice about what he was saying. “Okay, so like, I’ve met most people alright, right? And they’re all so nice and talented but, erm, you remember that Harry guy I met las’ year?” He was fully rambling, gesturing stupidly with his hands, phone forgotten in his lap as he continued on, not giving Stan an opportunity to intervene. “Yeah, okay, so he’s here too and he’s auditioning and we just ran into each other and he’s _so cute - - “_

“Cute?” Stan broke in, waggling his eyebrows. “Yeah? He’s cute? How endearing.”

 _Shit,_ Louis _had_ said he was cute aloud.

It wasn’t like the three people there with him didn’t _know._ It was just. Yeah. He wasn’t fully comfortable saying anything that hinted at it aloud. Not yet, at least. “Okay, so, forget I said he was cute, but seriously - - it’s _so good_ to see him again. Like yeah, okay, we’re competitors, but holy _shit_ I thought I’d never see him again.”

“What’s this I hear about a cute boy?” Lottie interjected, sliding from her chair to join Louis on the floor, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Why do _you_ always find and get the cute boys and I don’t?”

Lottie was the opposite when he came to sexuality. She wanted to be as loud and brazen about it as possible, ( _“Louis, why the hell don’t you want people to know you like guys? There’s nothing_ wrong _with it! You absolute wanker.”),_ not really understanding Louis’ aversion to it but respecting his choices to keep it private, nonetheless.

That certainly didn’t stop them from the classic sibling teasing about dating. Not one bit.

“Because _I’m_ more attractive than you,” Louis teased and Lottie swatted him over the head, almost managing to punch him in the jaw but missing by a fraction because of Stan kicking Louis in the chest simultaneously, pushing him back. “Boys attracted to boys want a sexy young lad to show them spirited youth and confidence to match their own hotheadedness and stupidity.”

“Somebody _please_ kick him out,” Stan groaned, face in his palms, but he was laughing along with Louis and Lottie, Jay watching them in her peripherals and smiling at their banter.

Louis loved her. He loved all three of them.

“Louis Tomlinson?” A voice behind their small group queried and Louis twisted around to face the owner of it, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he recognised one of the organisers with all the paperwork from before – Claudia, her nametag read. She was tall with hazel-brown hair and kind eyes and wore a simple suit, light grey blazer over a soft-looking blue blouse and darker grey suit bottoms to match. She radiated reassurance and acceptance, and if anything, Louis could at least say he was semi-comfortable in her presence (as comfortable as one could be, being dragged around by a very committed and passionate personal assistant).

“That’s me,” He answered.

“There’s been a last-minute change of plans,” Claudia announced, gesturing vaguely at the big screen as she grimaced – an obvious fan of sticking to the schedule, much to Louis’ dismay. “Wagner, who was supposed to go next, wasn’t able to make it in time because of some traffic dramas on the way here. We’ve organised for you to take his spot after mister, um - - “ She paused to check the clipboard Louis only just noticed was clasped to her chest, “After mister Harry Styles finishes up. He’s just gone on stage now, I believe.”

Well, _shit._ “Right,” he croaked out, briefly looking at Stan before he clambered to his feet and dusted off his pants, palms a little sweaty but not dangerously so. “Right, okay, shall we head off, then?”

Claudia took their little group backstage, to the _actual_ backstage behind the curtain looming in the northernmost part of where everybody had been crowding, Lottie glued to Jay’s side with wide and curious eyes, absorbing each new thing she noticed, saw. Stan had a comforting arm braced around Louis’ side, keeping him focused as they moved forward.

Louis did a quick little interview, just introducing himself (basically), and then everybody – save for him – was hustled to another location to be recorded for reactions as they watched his performance, something that happened every season. That didn’t mean he had to _like_ the separation, though. He absolutely _hated_ watching some of his favourite people taken away from him, even if it was just for a little while.

The kiss Jay blew in his direction and the reassuring thumbs-ups that Lottie and Stan shot him did nothing to quell his steadily rising nerves.

It shouldn’t have felt as monumental as it did in that moment, the separation almost symbolic of something he couldn’t quite place. But he shoved that thought away and locked it in the back of his mind as he gripped his microphone tighter to his chest and forcefully inhaled and exhaled _once, twice_ , before taking a few steps forward so he could have an unobstructed view of the stage, remaining concealed by the curtain. There was a much smaller television close to him that provided a clearer view of the front of the stage so the contestant could be seen in full, which Louis was super thankful for as Harry was pushed unceremoniously into the spot-light, pale and lanky and curly and _pretty, as adorable as a little puppy or kitten._

Louis managed a shaky smile, mouthing _good luck_ at the television for no real reason other than to comfort himself.

“I, erm… I work in a bakery,” Harry responded at some point in reply to one of the judge’s questions, a shy grin decorating his fucking _adorable_ face. The crowd awed and laughed at the cute boy in the spot-light on the stage – Louis giggling along with them, absolutely _refusing_ to admit that to anybody who asked in the future – who’s smile widened just that little bit more. He could sense Claudia hovering near by, the woman humming some tune or another under her breath and her pen scratching unsatisfyingly against the paper clipped to her board.

Louis could see the extra little boost of confidence in Harry’s demeanour as Louis Walsh leaned back in his judge’s chair and asked who Harry sang for.

“Like, um, like my inspirations?” Harry asked for clarification, each syllable carefully pronounced, like he was weighing the truth of each despite it not being an admission of any sort. It was pretty cute, if Louis was completely honest, how Harry felt the need to be as honest as possible – an open book, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the uneasy feeling out how damaging it had the possibility of becoming.

“I mean, my sister, mother and best-friends are probably who inspire me the most to sing,” Harry said after careful consideration, ducking his head and gulping quietly before he continued. “They’re the best. They always push me to do events n’ stuff. My mum actually signed me up for this, because like, she believes in me. It’s super sweet.”

The judges smiled at him, faces kind and warm and Louis couldn’t help but think _yeah, that kid is gonna make it, curls and all._

But shit, Harry was going to start _singing_ in a minute or two and then _Louis_ was going to need to perform, and his senses were swarmed so suddenly with nerves that he felt dizzy and needed to lean his head against a cold wall to centre himself.

Claudia, who had paused writing whatever she had been on her clipboard, looked him over with kind and reassuring eyes that, in all honesty, didn’t do much for Louis when he _definitely_ should’ve been calmed down just a fraction if he was a normal teenager.

“Nervous?” She asked, and Louis bit his bottom lip and looked away, answer enough for the woman, who was quick to continue her little speech. “It’s okay, don’t worry, everybody gets nervous at this point, even experienced performers. It’s only a few minutes and then it’s all finished, I promise you.”

Louis had to fight viciously against the urge to point out that _yeah, I’ve been here twice already and got rejected both times, I think I’d know about the pre-show nerves,_ because of course some random PA tasked with handling the contestants wouldn’t know he’d been there before. Hell, most of his _family_ didn’t know.

He planned on keeping it that way.

Louis’ eyes flickered back over to the small television, Harry still on the stage and it can’t have been longer than a minute since Louis had been completely overtaken with anxiety because Harry’s absolutely fucking _angelic_ voice was just beginning to reverberate through the entire space, volume amplified through his microphone, but not too much so that it was distorted in any manner whatsoever. Louis found himself smiling through his anxiousness, Harry’s version of _Isn’t She Lovely_ soft yet scratchy and youthful, performed with layers and layers of untouched talent, and Louis knew, he fucking _knew_ that Harry was safe, that he was going to make it through to the next round, no issues.

Harry finished his allowed minute of singing, and the judges were all broad smiles and clapping hands and Louis sighed in relief, the emotion absolutely oozing from his person. Nicole was smiling and Simon had an approving expression on his face as he watched Harry closely, almost seeming to completely ignore Louis Walsh, as usual, doing his little section of bullshit criticism over Harry’s act and the entire crowd booed, the _entire crowd,_ Christ, drawing a soft and playful giggle and rebellious _‘boo’_ from Harry himself, making every damn person in the room fall in love a little more with the curly-headed boy from Holmes Chapel, putting his heart out on that stage.

Louis Walsh said no – which wasn’t surprising at all, if anybody were to say anything, and the crowd booed again – but Simon and the Nicole gave two very enthusiastic versions of the word _yes, both of them all smiles and tips and encouraging words tangled up in a complex web of advice and compliments_.

Harry Styles was through to the next round, and suddenly it was Louis’ turn.

The walk across stage from behind the curtains took something that felt like a thousand years on top of a thousand years, and Louis was absolutely overtaken with terror by the time he reached the _X_ marking the middle of the stage, tape a little bit lighter than the stage itself so it wasn’t as noticeable on the camera tracking his every movement, ready to broadcast anything interesting and entertaining to the entire nation. He turned slowly, unsurely to face the judges, offering a nervous and shaky smile, hands clammy and slippery where they gripped the microphone and his heart beating unevenly in his chest.

“Hi,” he said to the crowd, shaking his head slightly and standing up a little straighter, shoulders automatically pulling back, offering one of those charming grins that usually paid off in getting him out of trouble. “I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

“Hello, Louis,” the guest judge – Nicole, he reminded himself – said by way of welcome, smiling at him kindly. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

“Okay,” he started, swallowing away the lump in his throat, focusing on keeping his voice steady and calm. “Well, erm, I’m eighteen, from Doncaster. You can probably tell tha’ from the accent.”

Simon made a considering expression and Louis Walsh nodded faintly, both men watching him with business-trained eyes. “And who’s here with you today?” Nicole followed up, still smiling that reassuring and kind smile, and Louis couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was trying valiantly to distract him from the two less forgiving and open judges on either side of her. He’d be sure to thank her later, if he remembered anything past the thickening wall of staticky stress in his brain.

“My mum and one of my four sisters, Lottie, are backstage. And um, my best-friend, Stan is here, too. He insisted he be here for moral support. S’always sayin’ stuff like that just so he can follow me everywhere and get into cool places.”

Simon chuckled and gave two hand claps in response, nodding at Louis. “It’s always good to have the best-friend’s support. Go ahead, Louis.”

He couldn’t talk even if he tried to, gulping nervously and offering Simon a curt nod to illustrate that he’d heart. His hands were shaking where they clasped at the microphone, the object now slippery with the sweat from his palms. Being recorded for national television in front of three _very_ well-known celebrities wasn’t exactly the most calming occurrence in the entire world, you see.

So he sang.

His heart dropped in his chest and missed at least three unhealthy beats as he got out his first line, all shaky and sounding unpractised and _far_ too youthful to be respectable. He felt that familiar stab of fear in his chest that his voice-box was going to fail him and he wouldn’t make it, _wouldn’t see Harry again,_ and he could feel his control over his anxiety slowly slipping from his grasp.

But then it was like the weight in his chest and heart broke through his ribs and leaked out through his voice, strengthening it, everything in his mind sharpening to each note, each pause, making his vision clear just that little bit more. He sang _Hey There Delilah_ and sure, his voice was a little uneven and unlike his usual confident demeanour, but it was delivering perfectly through the microphone, making him grin as he continued singing.

Somehow, miraculously, _surprisingly_ , he made it to the end of his allotted minute of singing without having a complete meltdown right there on the undeniably famous _X-Factor UK_ stage. He attempted a soft smile instead of his grin, trying to force his facial features back under his control, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins was far too insistent for him to concentrate on much else. He tried to listen for his fate from the judges, but everything was blurring together and the static in his ears was steadily increasing in volume so violently that he was terrified his eardrums and brain were going to burst with the pressure.

He heard three words, and three words only.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

He was going to bootcamp.

\--

There was a part of the backstage area closed off solely for those contestants who were voted through to the following round. There were several crews of interviewers, cameras flickering absolutely everywhere, bottles of water and snacks being passed around between contestants. Harry had already been dragged off to an interview the moment he stumbled off the stage, legs like jelly where they supported him and he knew he’d looked like an absolute wreck but he hadn’t found it in himself to _give a single shit._

There was also a smaller screen set up so they could watch the other contestants perform and receive their results, and Harry made a beeline for it as soon as he’d hugged and jumped around with Anne and Gemma and Katelyn and Tom, celebrating getting through. He’d practically launched himself into Katelyn’s open arms, his friend laughing, wrapping her arms so tightly around him he thought she had the opportunity to crush his ribs, congratulating him as his other three people had joined in with the hug, enveloping him in reassuring warmth.

He’d loved it, loved it so dearly that the memory would stay with him _forever,_ but he also needed to see the screen. Katelyn and Tom followed him loyally over to the little television, bickering back and forth continuously over one of the prior contestants that they’d seen on the stage – Harry couldn’t hope to catch up with them, really – before they stopped beside him, watching the screen just as Louis emerged from backstage.

He was standing centre stage with his soft hair and ridiculously adorable fringe that needed to be fixed _desperately,_ blue eyes bright and sharp and… _Well._ Nervous. Anxious. He looked completely unlike himself, utterly out of it, the charming, bouncy Louis Harry had slowly been getting to know gone in a flash, replaced by this shaky and attractive figure that looked pale enough to pass out on the spot.

Harry felt a stone drop in his stomach at the realisation. Louis looked lost, spacy, eyes flickering nervous across the crowd and judges before him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Like he wasn’t really there in his head and he’d floated off into metaphorical oblivion, not processing anything.

Harry must’ve been looking at the screen with a gaze akin to cartoon heart eyes, because Katelyn nudged him hard enough in the rib cages to make him hiss through his teeth in discomfort and look at her with a pout.

“You’re crushing,” she teased and Harry flipped her off as he turned back to face the screen, cheeks flushed crimson and eyes wide as he muttered, “Am not.”

And then Louis started singing, and Harry’s heart lurched in his chest at the first nervously-missed note. He could plainly see the fear in Louis’ expression, obvious to anybody and everybody and it lasted for a few more moments, before - -

Something happened. Something internal, something that could never physically grace the screens.

A mental switch was flipped, and the emotion in Louis’ voice came through almost immediately, dialled up to one-hundred-and-ten percent, each word absolutely heartbreaking, gut wrenching, slowly breaking little pieces of Harry’s heart as he continued to watch the screen. Harry had always been a sensitive person, perceptive and vulnerable to the emotions of others, and tears gathered quickly in his eyes before he even noticed them. He cried when someone broke something they’d just bought and always needed a hug when he saw a little kid all upset and worked up.

But he knew it mustn’t have just been him this time, for he wasn’t alone in the emotional display. He could hear Katelyn – who had always been pretty immune to emotions – sniffling a little beside him, although she wasn’t the only one. Everyone paying attention backstage was in a similar state, and the cameras in the attentive audience show several people wiping frantically at tear streaks on their faces.

The minute of Louis’ singing finished, and the judges were stunned.

“Wow, Jesus Christ, Louis, that was…” Nicole started, voice just a fraction unstable, but the crowd stood and cheered over the end of her sentence, making Harry beam because _Christ,_ Louis had gotten a standing _ovation,_ Harry’s fond expression earning him another nudge – this one a little gentler – in his ribs. He pointedly ignored Katelyn though, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his flushed face and unable-to-be-suppressed smile.

“That was well and truly breathtaking. Undeniably immaculate. Your emotion was on point, it really came through in every syllable and I really _felt_ it,” Nicole continued, smiling, the crowd having quietened down enough for her to be heard once again. “You should be incredibly proud of that. Your vocals are some of the most impressive I’ve seen in this competition thus far.”

Louis nodded, smiling. His eyes looked a little watery and glassy.

Louis Walsh leaned forward, looking eager to talk. “Louis, I’ll be completely honest here, I wasn’t really sure at first. You had a rocky start, and I think you know that, I could see it in your eyes, and I was about to make the same argument about you that I made about the contestant – I’m not sure if you know each other – that went before you, that you weren’t ready or experienced enough.” Boos flooded the air around him, and Walsh shook his head, waving a hand in an attempt to quiet them down. “But, _but_ , as you went on, you had me convinced that my initial assumption was wrong. You have some crazy talent, and you’re _definitely_ some strong competition to be up against.”

Louis stayed silent, smile widening just a little bit more, like he couldn’t quite process how he was feeling and was just projecting the closest thing to accurate representation that he could.

Next was Simon and Harry couldn’t stand still, eyes latched on to the screen like a fish-hook. “Louis, I’m not usually as brazen as this but I will admit, I like you. You, like everybody else at your experience level, need a little vocal coaching and have to work on controlling those nerves, but once you got into it, you were pretty much perfect. Work on getting comfortable, work on confidence, and you’ll go far. Really far. Mark my words.”

They voted, and – unsurprisingly – unanimously send him through. Harry cheered, high fived Katelyn, who returned it just as enthusiastically, and turned back to the screen to see Louis nod once more and utter a tiny _“thank you_ ” into the mic.

Harry, feeling fizzy with excitement for himself and Louis, jumped the border rope – pointedly ignoring the light scolding he received from the closest PA – and ran backstage, curls bouncy and cheeks pink. Louis was just reaching the end of the stage, and Harry shot forward like a bullet and wrapped him up so fast in his arms that all Louis could do was yelp and hug back, grinning a little less anxiously into Harry’s neck as a group of people nearby – Harry making the assumption that they were the people Louis spoke about before, his mum, sister and best-friend – watched them closely, Harry’s own group keeping a close eye from afar. He could already picture Gemma and Katelyn’s endless teasing for it later and Tom’s hopeless obliviousness as his mother watched on with quiet entertainment, but he couldn’t care any less as he pulled back and exclaimed, “Congrats!”

Louis grinned back, seeming almost completely like himself again, like he was back from the abyss in his head, arms still looped around Harry’s waist as he said, “Jesus Christ, congrats to you too, Haz. Think I almost shat myself out there. ‘twas terrifying. You _killed_ it, really killed it, holy shit.”

Harry giggled and tugged him close again, whispering into Louis’ ear, “Shut up. You did better! Your vocals… Holy _Christ._ Seriously. Insane.”

“Now _you_ need to shut up,” Louis teased as they pulled back again, Louis extracting his arms and folding them across his chest. Harry was a little slower to detach himself, but when he did he copied Louis’ movements, smiling shyly and ducking his head, embarrassed at his openly affectionate display. He glanced over Louis’ shoulder and briefly caught the eyes of the youngest girl in the little trio, who promptly looked away, pony-tail of hair swinging as she leaned in close to the boy and whispered something giggly.

He rocked back and forth on his heels before he laid a gentle hand on Louis’ shoulder and leaned in closer so his lips were right beside Louis’ ear (and Louis shuddered at his friend’s hot breath on his skin, but he adamantly ignored that fact). Harry leaned in even closer, eyes fluttering closed as he whispered, “I think your sister is eyeballing me,” and Louis cackled, resting his forehead on Harry’s shoulder as he laughed unabashedly. “Like hell I’d let her date anybody here. You’re all creeps. She’s fairly picky, anyway. I doubt she’d like anybody here.”

“That means you’re a creep, too.”

“Hey! _Offensive_ much. I meant everybody else, instead of myself.”

“That’s equally as offensive,” Harry teased and Louis groaned, pulling back and raising an eyebrow at his family, who eyed him amusedly before making their way towards the curtain leading out from backstage, leaving the two boys alone as they could get, since Harry’s own group was staying clear. Harry didn’t miss the boy call out before being dragged away by Louis’ sister – Lottie, if Harry recalled correctly – his words sounding hilariously like, “Get a room, lovebirds! S’only been a day back together and ya’ll are gonna fuck like _rabbits.”_

Louis groaned embarrassedly into his palm, shaking his head, a pale blush rising in Harry’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Ignore him. That’s Stan. He’s annoying.”

“I have to agree with that guy, though!” Katelyn chimed in and Harry could _sense_ her grin, making him shiver and apologise softly to Louis, who just rolled his eyes affectionately.

“I hate them,” Louis said.

“They’re our best friends,” Harry pointed out, looking down at the floor and smiling to himself. He heard Louis snort in response as the elder of the two shook his head, looking Harry up and down before he said quietly, “We can have more than one best-friend, Hazza.”

Whoever followed Louis out on stage had begun belting out Celine Dion and the sound of it floated between them, Harry taking a minute to process Louis’ words.

Louis finally broke the silence, smiling fondly. “Right, erm. We- I have to go. Mum will probably hurt me deeply if I don’t turn up soon.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback.

“You aren’t staying? There’s an afterparty for everyone that got through today.”

“I know. It’s so annoying, but mum doesn’t trust me to drink on my own anymore. I got absolutely shit-faced last time I partied and like, I don’t plan on getting my arse roasted publicly by my much older mother.”

Harry snorted, feeling a grin so wide split across his face as an epiphany sharpened his mind, making him concentrate.

“Louis, can I get your phone number?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah, Styles, you actually have a brain in there.”

“Shut up and take my phone so you can add your stupid contact,” Harry giggled, scrunching his nose affectionately and turning away as he withdrew his phone from the pocket in his pants and handing it to Louis delicately.

Holy _shit,_ they were _finally_ exchanging numbers and Harry felt a little bubble of hope that bootcamp might be fun with someone he knew by his side.

He watched Louis walk away when they’re done, both of them flushed and beaming as Louis immediately sends Harry a text consisting solely of the shit emoji.

And in the background, Celine’s signature song was being projected into the crowd.

_\--_

_(22 nd of July)_

_Twelve days._

_T_ welve days since the day that changed Louis’ life.

Twelve days since he had been reunited with one of his best-friends, ten since he’d met another two, and eight since he’d met a fourth.

He could hardly believe his life anymore. It was positively, absolutely insane, and he didn’t think he minded it – not just yet. He didn’t think Harry, Liam, Zayn or Niall did either, to be completely honest. They just seemed along for the ride of excitement and adrenaline, enthused by every small thing and absorbing every single new tid-bit of information – whether it about actual music or about the functionality of the X-Factor itself.

In the short period of time that they’d known each other, they’d already become some of the closest friends in the entire competition and knew things about each other that nobody else did.

Niall was the baby of the group. He was the cute one – the one with the baby face, the one that needed the most protecting because he didn’t see anything wrong with voicing whatever he was thinking. He may not have been the youngest of the quintuple – Harry held that title, and he held it above their heads like a trophy whenever he saw it necessary and dissed it when he didn’t – but he definitely acted like it, laughing at every small thing that could even be considered slightly funny and clinging to the boys like they were his life-lines. He was also the only one able to play guitar like it was a second language to him, notes flowing flawlessly from his fingers on the strings and mixing perfectly with his talented voice that he didn’t consider talented at all (which was a blatant lie, in all of their opinions, save for his own). Harry practically begged him every single day to teach him and they’d actually been making a fair amount of progress and no matter what, Louis always found it good to watch them learn from each other – Harry providing some vocal coaching on the notes Niall struggled with and the blonde instructing him on how to play guitar, something Harry had been wanting ever since he was twelve.

But Niall was more than just the baby. He was a comforter, a teacher, somebody who strived for the right things in the world without even realising he was doing it, without even fully understanding that he was doing it. He was smart, always having solutions to practical problems and presenting everybody with huge, unanswerable questions regarding complexities that Louis could only ever hope to vaguely understand. He could speak five different languages excluding English because he wanted to be able to converse with everyone he could without needing a translator. He wanted to include as many people as possible and make them laugh as he’d laugh at their jokes in return, because he believed that everybody should have had the chance to be heard in a conversation. He could string a tune together on his guitar within minutes and compose it into a song effortlessly, using the notes and chords to communicate far better through music than he could ever do in mere English.

Niall was Niall.

It had been a pretty fluid thing, meeting the blonde Irish lad, in Louis’ opinion. Like it was fate and it was clicking together effortlessly. They’d been upstairs in the bunk area of the X-Factor house, Harry and Louis adamant to see what the contestants who made it past Judges’ Houses had to live in each year and ultimately being fairly impressed. The bunk beds themselves were comfortable enough, pillows plush and blankets soft (although Louis supposed he’d bring his own if he made it through to the point where he’d be living there, and Harry would undoubtedly do the same) and the kitchen and living spaces were also fairly luxurious, huge windows everywhere.

Harry and Louis had been sitting in the living space on the floor with Katie Waissel and Cher Lloyd – Cher and Harry hitting it off immediately, Cher making him flush bright pink in the cheeks as he laughed so hard he could barely breathe, and Louis and Katie found themselves watching on affectionately – simply getting to know each other when they’d been joined by an Irish boy with blonde hair who couldn’t have been much older than sixteen (turned out he was seventeen, which had honestly surprised Louis, but he hadn’t said anything for fear of making offense). The blonde had slid on to the absolutely huge sofa, making the quartet pause their conversation about beer pong (Louis couldn’t remember how it had started, really) and peer at him curiously.

“Erm, hi?” Harry started nervously, fidgeting and subconsciously shuffling a little closer to Louis, who slung an arm carelessly around his shoulders and tugged him against the elder of the two. Katie shot Louis an entertained expression, raising an eyebrow, to which he responded by flipping her off before turning to look at the blonde boy, scanning him up and down before meeting his eyes.

“Hello!” He said cheerfully, blonde hair sticking up at all different angles and accent so thick Louis had to concentrate even harder to understand what he was saying. “I’m Niall. Don’ know anyone here, so I figured I’d ge’ to know a few people.” He broke off momentarily to take a breath – which Cher giggled at, covering her mouth self-consciously – before he continued speaking. “Who are you guys? I know you,” he said, smiling, gesturing vaguely at Harry, who raised a contemplative eyebrow and sat up a little straighter, eyes wide and interested. “You’re Harry, righ’? Everyone knows ya, I think.”

“S’me,” Harry responded with a timid smile, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Louis’ arm still resting around his shoulders. Louis and Cher cooed fondly at his shyness while Katie smiled and Harry flushed a little red in the cheeks, shaking his curls out like he usually did when he felt embarrassed or overwhelmed. “This is Louis, Katie and Cher.” He gestured to them each respectively, biting his bottom lip. “Nice to meet you, Niall.”

And so it had begun. Louis and Harry had met Niall, and never been separated since. No questions asked.

Zayn was one of the most unique individuals Louis had ever met. Gentle and weak touches, dangerously smart and deathly quiet. Terrifyingly intelligent, his mind functioning beyond Louis’ comprehension – beyond anybody’s comprehension, really. He always had deep and intellectual answers to Niall’s questions, Zayn’s responses creating even more questions than there had been in the first place. It was something deadly and baffling, something that could be used against anybody who threatened to hurt him or used to save anybody who he cared for.

He was more than just a brainiac with a quiet mouth, though – he was caring, somebody to go for when you needed comfort. Somebody who always seemed to have the answers to your woes, someone who always knew what to say when somebody needed help – whether it was something minor or major. He was soft and clingy and had a gentle laugh, was all over you when you got to know each other and refused to let you suffer alone, even if you begged for it, because he loved you more than he loved himself and couldn’t bear to see you in pain with no one by your side.

Louis had met Zayn before they’d been on the show together, since they’d been at the same fast-food joint or another only a few years before and bonded over trashing the place for its poor customer service. They’d kept in contact via text and call and Louis had honestly been pretty disappointed he hadn’t caught the Bradford boy at auditions, only to find out he’d auditioned earlier in the day and gone to the afterparty that Louis hadn’t been allowed to attend because of Jay’s completely understandable lack of trust in how Louis handled himself while he drank.

They’d met Zayn the same day as they’d met Niall, but in a considerably different manner.

Harry, Louis and Niall had split off from Katie and Cher and raced down the spiralling staircase back down to backstage, and Niall had collided into a small body frame seated at the bottom, both of them tumbling down the final four or five stairs, Niall shrieking in surprise and the smaller boy swearing before they came to a halt at the bottom, the boy on his back and Niall on top on him, their legs tangled together and Niall pulled away, stuttering apologies, face all flushed red. Louis and Harry had paused on the staircase, Louis biting his lip in an attempt not to burst out into laughter and Harry fisting a nervous hand in the back of Louis’ shirt.

The two boys on the floor finally untangled from each other, Niall standing and stumbling away, scratching the back of his scalp awkwardly. The boy on the floor sat up, propping a leg up and leaning his left elbow on it while he swiped his right hand through his messy yet good-looking hair, shaking his head and grinning to himself as he clambered to his feet with unnatural grace. “S’alright, man. S’alright. ‘M Zayn. You?”

Louis didn’t even give Niall a chance to respond as he launched himself down the last of the stairs – almost dragging Harry down with him, but mercifully the curly-headed and wide-eyed boy gripped the railing and let go of Louis’ shirt – with a gleeful shriek, colliding with Zayn and yanking him into an embrace as Zayn barely managed to choke out a surprised and unsuspecting, “Louis?”

His voice was soft and delicate, kind and quiet. Louis liked it, had liked it since he’d first met Zayn – it reminded him of his mother when she consoled him if he were feeling unwell or sad, and it made him feel comfortable. Made him trust Zayn, even if they didn’t really know each other beyond stupid text messages and complaining about one teacher or professor or another over late night calls.

“S’me!” He exclaimed and Zayn winced, Louis having cried out his words directly into the younger of the two’s ear. “The cute and curly one is Harry, and the bleached blonde one who knocked you on your sorry arse is Niall,” Louis rambled, pulling back from Zayn, who still had his arms looped around Louis’ waist – a cute gesture that made Louis’ face split into a huge grin which the darker skinned boy returned without hesitation, peering around Louis to take in his companions; Harry was still nervously perched on the stairs, rubbing absent-mindedly at his arm, while Niall, faux-offended, placed a hand over his heart and cried out, “How dare you refer to me as ‘the bleached blonde’, Louis? You wound me beyond repair!” 

Zayn laughed, shaking free of Louis’s friendly grip and folding his arms over his chest, looking behind Louis to look Harry up and down. “I like you lot. Saw you perform, Harry. Your vocals are insane - - like, seriously insane. Wish I could hit those lower notes. ‘M only good for the middle ground and high ones. And Niall – shit, man, that accent makes everythin’ sound so cool!”

Niall flushed pink in the cheeks but shot Zayn one of those charming smiles, no teeth but lips stretched attractively, and he grinned before turning back to Louis. “Wish I coulda seen yours too, Louis. Heard a bunch of the other guys talkin’ about how you smashed it. Knew you would, babes.”

Louis flushed bright pink, grinning cheekily as he turned around and caught Harry shaking his head shyly, flushing red and tightening his grip on his arm. “T-thanks, Zayn,” the green-eyed boy stuttered on behalf of them all. “I saw your audition, too. You’re incredible. Wish I could do high-notes the type of justice you do.”

Zayn snorted as Harry ruffled his curls adorably – not that Louis would ever admit to thinking that, mind you – shooting Harry a fond wink before his eyes flickered back over to Louis, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I know we jus’ met n’ all, but like, wanna hang out, or somethin’? I know nobody and like, kinda want to.”

“Sounds fantastic, my man,” Louis started, purposefully making his voice all high-pitched and cringy, and he didn’t need to look to sense Harry scrunching his nose in an attempt not to laugh. “Let’s find somewhere to share our deepest, darkest secrets because we’re cringy high-school kids who want dirt on each other to use as blackmail.”

Zayn laughed again, and Louis decided in that moment that he wanted that boy as one of his best-friends.

He got that, by the end of that very day. A third best-friend who he knew he could rely on for anything, for forever. And he loved it.

Two days later, they’d met Liam.

Liam was sincere and gentle, priding himself on who he was without room for any complaint from anybody. He was a comforting figure, a rock in a swirling ocean filled with whirlpools and rips and fatal currents. He was the most mature, the most reassuring, yet somehow the most intense – so committed to his life, to the future he wanted, and he loved fiercely, like a burning flame, endless in its power and force. It didn’t matter that he was the most mature, though, or the guiding hand that everybody seemed to need when even Niall’s methods failed, because he was soft and smiley and laughed at bad jokes because he found everything funny and played silly pranks with Louis and Zayn because he didn’t want to lead a boring life.

It had been a completely different meeting than the ones they’d shared with Niall and Zayn. Louis vaguely remembered saying hi to the boy at auditions, but he hadn’t been one-hundred-percent sure and had resigned himself to not remembering at all.

The contestants who had made it through auditions had returned to the X-Factor facilities to meet more people, to socialise, and in all honesty, to practice their musical talents where others could spectate. Louis and Harry had found themselves in a practicing group with Zayn, Niall and Katie, the five of them spinning around their vocals on a practice song – which just so happened to be Isn’t She Lovely, Harry’s audition song.

Louis had been so wrapped up in watching Harry when it came to his turn to sing, each syllable so full of emotions and beauty and future that everybody in the room who was listening was absolutely breath-taken and their little group had soon attracted attention – attention in the form of listeners from all around the room that pretended they weren’t listening, and Liam Payne.

Louis and Zayn were harmonising a particular part of the song, amazed at how well their vocals meshed together, accenting each other perfectly, when a boy with mop-like brown hair made his way over, face drawn in a sincere and evaluating frown, eyes flickering over their little group when Katie squealed and launched up and into his arms, taking the boy by surprise before he realised who it was.

“Jesus, Katie. Tryin’ to suffocate me?” The boy had joked softly, voice kind and flowy, attractive enough to get both Louis and Zayn to pause their singing and watch the scene unfold.

“Let me suffocate you, Li,” Katie giggled, withdrawing from the embrace and dragging Liam down to sit between her and Harry, who was watching the interaction wide-eyed. “Oh, right, erm, guys… This is, erm, this is Liam Payne. He’s super sweet and got some serious vocals.”

Liam flushed bright red at the compliments, turning away and blinking in rapid succession muttering a soft, “Not true,” to which Katie rolled her eyes and nudged him hard in the ribs. Louis and Zayn shared a look, Niall and Harry sharing their own, before Harry moved a little closer to Louis and Niall looked Liam up and down. “Well, don’t be shy,” the blonde teased, beginning to strum at his guitar once more. “Join in! The more the merrier.”

They hadn’t gotten along the best at first, Louis actually deciding he fucking hated Liam and all his muscled perfection, for Christ’s sake (he didn’t actually have any reason to dislike the boy, he just found he did), but Zayn, Harry and Niall liked him well enough, so Louis helped them bring Liam into their little inside group amongst the other contestants and sure enough, Louis unregretfully began to grow a liking towards Liam Payne until they were attached at the hip.

Harry was the glue that kept them all together. The soft one with the curls that attracted all the media attention, with his kind and adorable face and his words that managed to draw anybody in and make them like him. He was caring and gentle and a worrier, constantly getting anxious and fretting over the simplest of things, but he never cared much for himself when somebody else was in trouble or hurting. He cried when somebody else was upset and needed comfort whenever he could see another person’s pain because he felt it himself. He had the softest hair and the warmest hugs and didn’t have to say anything to provide any comfort because his mere presence was enough. He had the prettiest eyes and the palest skin and the faintest freckles that could only be seen if you were to peer close enough and would make him flush pink in the cheeks at the closeness. He was comprised of the best parts of the world that continued to disregard him, made him feel irrelevant, when he was the embodiment of perfection and goodness.

Louis didn’t need to recount his first meeting with Harry. Besides, if he did, he was sure he’d start blushing furiously with no way of stopping himself because shit, he didn’t even know why but. Yeah.

He liked Harry too much. 

And Louis – well, he didn’t think very highly of himself in any regard (except, perhaps, for his skills at a piano), but he knew he was the older brother. The comedic relief, the entertainer, whatever you’d like to call it. He wasn’t mature by any standards – not like an older sibling should have been – but he was protective, something of a guider and had advice for most situations any of the boys confronted him with (other than that one time Harry had gotten upset with Aidan for drinking his milkshake and Louis had recommended that Harry fill Aidan’s shoes with cockroaches and rotten cheese, which Harry hadn’t done, of course). He played the funniest pranks, made the worst yet best jokes, and had the best comfort methods whenever somebody was upset and needed condolence. It was something he prided himself on, had since the beginning.

And they’d become a group. A group of inseparable best-friends, loving each other despite having only known each other for just under two weeks. Loving each other so fiercely that they hardly spent any time apart whenever they were all at the X-Factor location, constantly texting and talking and interacting, hardly bearing to spend any time not socialising with each other. Louis and Harry threw fruit at Nicolo’s (one of their fellow contestants) head – and hit him directly with a watermelon once, something that had earned them a scolding from one of the assistants. Not that they had cared, of course – while Niall distracted the poor guy with his beautiful guitar strumming and sprinted for his life whenever somebody figured out he was involved (Louis was still salty the blonde hadn’t been pulled up for helping him and Harry with their shenanigans, but what could he do, other than snitch? And Louis didn’t snitch). Liam often watched with fond eyes and cracked bad jokes that could even put Harry’s to shame, starting water fights with Louis that Zayn and Niall quickly joined in on, Harry filming from the sidelines because, “no, my hair will frizz beyond repair. I only get wet or swim when I actually put the right conditioner in it.” “You’ll only get wet if you put the right hair conditioner in? Sad sex life you must lead, Styles.” “Shut up Zayn, or I’ll egg you in the face tomorrow evening.”

They were a group. And they loved each other.

And Louis knew he’d never be able to say goodbye.

Especially when it came to Harry. He didn’t know how he’d survive if he lost the curly-headed and shy boy from Holmes Chapel, because Harry was like his damn life-support and fuck him if he ever lost the one thing in his life that kept him happy.

Not his family, even though he loved them dearly.

It was Harry.

Always Harry.

And Louis didn’t know what that meant.

_\--_

_(23 rd of July)_

The _Boys_ were the last category left backstage to hear their fate, all shuffling and talking nervously, voices echoing around as people fretted and some cried and others were completely relaxed, utterly sure of their results – whether they’re good or bad. As they were called forward to line up, the atmosphere was thrumming with tension, completely overloaded with it, the tense silence that had fallen between each name like an endless abyss. Harry was pressed tightly to Louis’ side, desperate for the comfort, his entire figure shaking. If Louis wasn’t so frozen with fear, he’d wrap his best-friend into an everlasting embrace.

It took only a couple of minutes to space them evenly and start the roll call. Louis listened in growing desperation as names were slowly announced, boys disappearing offstage with fist pumps and exhilarated grins and cries of unrelenting joy.

_Nicolo. John. Aidan. Matt. Paije. Marlon. Tom._

He didn’t make it.

_They didn’t make it._

Harry crumbled into Louis immediately and buried his face in his shoulder as they walked back off the stage, crying softly and hitching sobs muffled in Louis’ shirt, making Louis’ heart ache as he wrapped a protective arm around Harry’s waist. Zayn attached himself to Louis’ other side, shaking but crying silently, a practiced effort.

Niall and Liam both were snatched away by camera and production crews and ended up walking away mid-sentence, mid-interview, tears falling and disappointment too hard to overcome, too prominent for them to continue past. Niall pulled his woolly jumper over his face to conceal his sobs and leaned his face into the middle of Zayn’s back, Zayn reaching an arm around Niall’s waist and tugging him closer. Harry broke away from Louis for a fraction of a second to adamantly yank Liam into the forming cuddle pile of broken boys, eyes on them from all angles as they pressed their heads together, all of them too breathless and heartbroken to utter their goodbyes just yet.

They didn’t care. They couldn’t.

Louis wanted to give up, to collapse under the weight of his grief and overwhelming mountain of emotions – but he couldn’t. He had to stand up for these boys – _his_ boys to stand up, too.

“Don’t leave yet!” one of the ear-piece collectors called out, voice like a dagger in the silence only broken by quiet tears. “We erm, just got some last-minute instructions.”

Louis didn’t care. His heart was crushed and shattered and left to rot on the scuffed and creaky wooden floor of the Wembley stage, and his heart was steadily beginning to ache more and more, breaking from the weight of the boys sobbing into his shirt from all sides, and every voice he had ever locked away in the back of his head to avoid meltdowns was whispering tiny truths like _you weren’t good enough anyway_ and _you didn’t deserve any sort of fame in the first place and you knew you were going to lose the boys anyway so why the fuck are you making such a huge deal of it, damnit._

Louis didn’t want to be famous if every rejection ended like this.

“I’ve got five names here. The judges would like you all back on stage,” Claudia said, having appeared at some point that Louis didn’t remember, still absorbed in his head, the woman clutching a clipboard tightly to her chest like she had been doing the first time she’d met Louis all that time ago at auditions, when he’d been freaking out and bordering a breakdown for a completely different reason. “Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Louis Tomlinson. Please follow me, boys.”

They all stayed silent, unwilling to say what they were all thinking – which was that the drama-starved producers just wanted more footage of their hearts slowly fracturing more and more, some of the most promising acts stamped out like the last remaining sparks and flames of an unwanted campfire. They couldn’t possibly pass five more boys on to the Judge’s House, having already increased it from six acts per category to eight to make up for the two missing judges. They weren’t going anywhere; they were just being squeezed and exploited for more beautiful, perfect, crystalline tears.

Louis followed Zayn out onto the stage and immediately saw four girls, all looking like they were pretty nice and cool, coming up the other ramp to join them on the stage. He thought he recognised two of the girls as Esther Campbell and Rebecca Creighton, but he couldn’t be sure through the blurry glare that his eyes were suffering from. They were clasping each other’s hands, cheeks tear-stained and eyes red from crying (the boys couldn’t have looked much better in the crying proof department). Louis wanted someone’s hand to hold onto if he was going to be told once more that he didn’t belong here, so he settled for gripping tightly on to Liam’s shirt, hand shaking so hard his knuckles were white.

It was Nicole that spoke to them first. “Hello,” she said to them softly, voice amplified by the microphone. Her voice immediately filled up the space in the room, which had seemed so small when a hundred other acts were around them, awaiting their ultimate fates.

“We’ve thought of each of you as individuals so far in this competition.” _Well, yes, that was how we auditioned, absolutely and incredibly famous and rich idiot_ , Louis thought, desperately suppressing the urge to repeat his thought aloud, instead wiping almost violently at his still-watering eyes. They definitely weren’t going to make this quick, attempting to draw it out painfully slow, trying to wring the best reactions possible from the breaking quintuple. “But you’re too talented to let go.”

That was, well. _Well._ Fuck.

Simon’s voice was a sledgehammer through Louis’ carefully constructed wall of self-preservation.

“We’ve decided to put you through.”

This time, it was Louis that did the jumping instead of Harry, like the curly-headed lad had done when Louis had made it through his first audition. He flung himself into Harry’s arms and all he could think, all he could process was _I get to keep him for a bit longer._

\--

_(28 th of August)_

They’d hit it off from the start.

Nobody else on the show had interlocked as quickly as they had, Louis knew. Sure, Rebecca and Katie were drawn to each other almost immediately, as were Liam and Zayn, surprisingly, but it just wasn’t the same as Harry and Louis (although, Liam and Zayn _did_ come fairly close).

It made Louis smile the longer he thought about it all.

He’d never been the most philosophical of people, but he always found himself reflecting on it from one angle or another.

He didn’t even know why, though. It made his chest tingle a little and his fingers jump but - - but he didn’t even understand why _that_ was a thing. Perhaps it had something to do with meeting a few times before they’d seen each other on the show, but Louis remained doubtful of that, since he’d also met Zayn prior to _X-Factor_ and actually had been smart enough to grab his number (Rebecca Ferguson thought the same – Bec or Bex, she insisted – who _constantly_ reminded Louis of her perspective on the entire debacle. Louis loved her, he really did, but the continuous chatter about it was steadily making him more and more awkward whenever it was brought up).

Louis had been finding it all pretty ridiculous before that fateful day on the stage that his brain _constantly_ doubled back to where they’d been thrown together, if he were totally honest.

Louis didn’t remember Harry ever mentioning _X-Factor_ to him as they’d crouched on that filthy bathroom floor at Battle of the Bands like the idiotic teenage boys they were, talking about their musical passions. _“I’m just in it for the hell of it, I think,” Harry had murmured softly, still too awkward and flushed to really look Louis in the eye. “Mum wants me to, like, go somewhere with it, but I don’t know if I want to, you know? I don’t want it to backfire on me, because I don’t know if I could mentally survive that.”_ And yeah, Louis had seen that, he really had, but it hadn’t doused the burning flames in his own chest of desire to _make it._

So it was purely luck that they’d ended up on _X-Factor_ together – or perhaps fate dealing a kind hand for once. He’d thought as much the moment he ran into Harry in those damn bathrooms backstage, throwing himself into the curly-headed lad’s arms like he would die if he didn’t. Them being put into the same group act together seemed proof enough that the universe was siding with them – with their friendship, however tentative it had been in the beginning.

After the band’s formation day on the twenty-third of the previous month, Harry had been _shy._ Reserved, pulling in on himself instead of being confident and cute, like his usual self. He was often teary eyed, looking completely drained and sad and all of the boys had been concerned at first, worried he was receding into endless anxiety or sadness, but they hadn’t needed to worry for too long.

It had only been a matter of time before Louis broke through that wall the sixteen-year-old had built in his mind and they’d become attached at the damn _hip_ once again, texting and talking and touching non-stop, like it was their life-support supply – the contact they had between each other. As soon as they’d all moved into the bungalow, Niall often pretended to retch in a corner while Liam and Zayn would shake their heads and roll their eyes fondly, making little comments about _‘how they should just shag already’_ and _‘oh my god, please, the sappiness is too much for my eyes’._ Louis liked to shut them up by screeching loudly and pouncing on them, littering their faces with little kisses that had them squirming and whining at him to get off while he cried that _‘no, in fact, I will not get off you before you deserve this type of affectionate treatment’,_ Harry giggling in the background with a self-conscious hand covering his mouth.

Louis had known something was going to happen in his head the moment Harry invited the other four boys to stay at a little bungalow for a week and thirteen days to get to know each other. Despite none of the boys having much time to hang out together after the 23rd of July, resorting to texting so often that Niall managed to get grounded for being inseparable with his phone, there hadn’t been any other option other than to say _yes, fuck yes._ Louis, being the gentleman he was, immediately accepted (absolutely refusing to admit to Liam’s prying eyes and ears that okay, yeah, maybe it was because he couldn’t say no to Harry, but who could?), and Zayn, Liam and Niall had hastily followed his lead, all equally as excited to spoil themselves with friendship and sweets and alcohol (and possibly weed, but Zayn couldn’t say that aloud, in case somebody went looking for any traces of the substance and he was kicked off the show for drug use. Louis would’ve been dragged down too, but nobody had to know that, either).

It was the seventeenth day in the bungalow, and Louis awoke at an hour he wasn’t sure of, Niall’s excited cheering coming from the direction of the kitchen and Liam’s stuttered protests against something that sounded vaguely illegal, if the boy’s adamant refusal was anything to go by (yes, okay, Liam could be a bit of a daredevil and bend the law as much as humanly possible, but he was just too _kind_ to not feel guilty about it later. Louis didn’t know whether he admired that or not).

The eldest of the band was curled up on the absolutely heavenly sofa in the living area, blankets tucked neatly around his small body so he was effectively cocooned. He’d claimed the sofa on the first night there, watching amusedly as the boys - - _his_ boys tried and failed to set up the mattresses they’d dragged into the living space so they could all sleep in the same room. Louis had ended up intervening (and admittedly making the hopeless situation worse, all of them having to call Harry’s mother because they didn’t know how to fit four mattresses on to the floorspace of the lounge room).

Only having four mattresses didn’t stop Louis from cuddling up with the other boys on the mattresses, pressed against Harry’s back with Zayn’s head against his own lower back. He only ever ended up on the sofa if someone _(Harry)_ carried him and set him up there after everyone else had woken up and Louis remained asleep.

His head was positioned comfortably on a fluffy pillow he’d robbed from the guest room a few nights prior, hands tucked under his cheek – _like a Disney princess sleeping_ , Niall had affectionately said the first time he’d noticed that Louis slept like that, because apparently that was how all of the Disney princesses were animated to sleep like. Harry had spluttered in mock offense, faux-pouting at Louis and the blonde Irish man, stating that _‘no, I’m the Snow White of this household! No others allowed’,_ and Louis had ruffled his hand in Harry’s curls and pulled sharply enough on a bunch to make Harry yelp and burst out into a fit of childish giggles.

Now, as Louis tentatively forced himself into the waking world, he made sure to untuck his hands from underneath his cheek, although he doubted there was much point. Niall had probably already snapped a number of pictures and posted them on some internet platform or another. Louis, in all honesty, didn’t really mind. It was a nice feeling, although he’d never say that aloud – say that he liked the attention, despite everybody having figured it out almost immediately.

The world was steadily coming into focus in front of Louis’ eyes, taking note of the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds drawn down over the ridiculously large glass windows that had the _nicest_ view of the bungalow’s backyard.

Louis and Zayn had originally protested calling it a _bungalow,_ insisting it was too weird and cringy (Zayn’s precise words being, _“Oh, fuck no, it sounds like some cheesy rom-com location! I adamantly refuse.”_ Harry had been offended, shooting puppy eyes at Zayn and doing that innocent little pout that had everybody’s hearts stuttering in their chest with second-hand guilt and first-hand affection _)_ but they’d both found themselves regretfully agreeing with the other three boys that it had a nice ring to it the longer they stayed their together. _Bungalow_ sounded cute – homey, almost. Louis liked it.

Louis liked it a lot. It made him think about the future, and smile while doing so.

His sat up, swinging around so he was facing forwards on the sofa, slowly untangling his limbs from the blankets. He’d somehow laced the thicker of the two blankets in a figure-eight type of shape around his legs, the thinner covering the rest of his mostly-naked body. He rarely slept fully clothed anymore, despite the colder weather because it was _August,_ and August was always chilly, but Louis still woke up damp from sweat despite only sleeping in mid-thigh length boxers and making sure his showers were edging on the side of cold each night.

His toes were curled where they barely brushed the polished wooden floorboards as he rubbed his eyes in a half-arsed attempt to wake himself up again, before he stumbled to his feet and made his way through the exuberant living room – Christ, he still questioned how Harry and his family had scored such a _nice_ bungalow – and towards the kitchen, where he could still hear Niall and Liam arguing. “ _Jesus,_ Ni, do you really think Harry’s dad _won’t_ notice he’s missing at least two bottles of champagne and wine _each_ when we get up and leave? It’s rude - - “

“Li, Harry’s dad probably barely _cares,”_ Niall cut in just as Louis emerged into the scene, taking it in piece by piece. Niall was sitting on top of the marble kitchen countertop, legs crossed with a bottle of booze resting in his lap, hands drifting steadily closer to the cap, ready to crack it open and most likely catch Liam in the spray. Liam was sitting on one of the pristine white stools, watching Niall’s movements with wide and cautious eyes, ever so genuine and caring – something that would never change. “I mean, c’mon, he lets Harry drink _normally._ S’nothin’ wrong wit’ this! Jus’ a tad o’ alc anyway ain’t gonna do anythin’ too bad.”

“Well, _this_ is an interesting topic to wake up to,” Louis commented, voice raspy and heavy with the remnants of sleep. Niall turned so fast to face him that Louis was surprised the blonde’s neck didn’t snap, while Liam adjusted his seating position slower, shooting the eldest member of the band a soft smile and a gentle, “Mornin’, Tommo. How’d you sleep?”

Louis snorted, sliding into one of the stools opposite to Liam, tucking his legs up so they rested on the little metal bars and leaning his elbows on the cool marble surface of the counter. “I mean, y’know, fine enough. That _couch_ is _everything,_ man. Christ. How about you? Or have you two been arguing back and forth about breaking out the drinks since the rest of us dozed off?”

“Actually, _no,_ we’ve only been up for half an hour or so,” Liam said through that same little smile and a roll of his eyes. “Zayn stayed up the whole night. Pre’ sure he’s smokin’ outside n’ texting Bec or Kate if you want to join ‘im and third-wheel. Harry’s in the guest room organising all the shit we messed up. I’m sure he’ll be out to make breakfast soon, like normal.”

He adamantly ignored the little flutter in his chest at the idea of a sleepy Harry, face all relaxed, body and skin so _touchable_ , lips plush and soft looking and - - and _kissable_. It wasn’t anything Louis hadn’t seen before, Harry’s barely-awake figure, looking so perfect and innocent, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the effects of it. He didn’t think anyone was, really.

_It makes your lips so kissable_

_(...)_

_Your fingertips so touchable_

He didn’t know where the words came from and why they floated into his mind so effortlessly, but they sounded oddly perfect for… _Something._ He’d have to grab a piece of paper later and write them down.

Louis cleared his throat before he started speaking again. “One, I’m honestly surprised s’only been half an hour. Niall looks about ready to combust with desperation to get drunk as _fuck.”_ He paused to allow Niall to laugh, the blonde’s fingers unconsciously twisting on the cork of the wine bottle like he was considering popping it within the next few moments. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he did. “Two, ‘m not out for a smoke this morning. Wanna stay clear for a bit, you know?”

“Shocking,” Liam muttered and Louis cried out in faux-offense, leaping a little sluggishly from his seat to clamber across the marble countertop, kneeling while he twined a harsh hand in Liam’s hair and tugged, forcing Liam to look up with a slightly cry of pain, eyes fixed on Louis.

“How _dare_ you insult me for my ways?” Louis wailed, sticking his bottom lip out overdramatically and giving Liam his most puppy-eyed expression physically possible. Liam’s smile was turning into a grin as he pawed at Louis’ arm half-heartedly, Louis tightening his grip on the younger’s hair in response. Niall was laughing beside Niall, clutching his stomach as he laughed, still seated on the counter, eyes crinkled at the edges. “Allow me to _smoke_ without _consequence!”_

“Other than messed up lungs,” Niall teased from behind, rasping for oxygen from how hard he’d been continuously laughing. The sentence didn’t really work as a response, but Louis and Liam both understood what the blonde was trying to say and Louis went to lunge for Niall too as a door closed down the hallway and a familiar soft bout of laughter filled the air, followed by a raspy voice that – to which he’d deny, deny, _deny –_ set Louis’ blood on fire.

He couldn’t make his third point, which had been _‘thirdly and finally, what makes you think I was about to ask about Harry?’,_ and honestly, he didn’t mind much. He paused his movements to wrestle with Niall, who was laughing so violently Louis was afraid he’d drop the bottle of alcohol still clutched so hard in the blonde’s hands that his fingers were slowly going white.

“Lou, Ni, why’re you on the counter?” Harry rasped, voice gentle and weak – clear that he’d only woken up around twenty or so minutes ago, if the fact that his poorly chucked on white Calvin Klein boxers that were slung low on his hips were any indication. Louis hadn’t even noticed that he’d turned to face the curly-headed boy, but found his lips stretching into a traitorously wide smile, soft and welcoming and _kind._ Harry returned it, beaming momentarily at Louis – the elder making a _huge_ effort not to glance at Harry’s bottom half, his eyes being ever so tempted to wander and his brain screaming _fuck no fuck no fuck no_ – before Harry’s beam slipped off his face (much to Louis’ dismay) and he folded his arms over his bare chest, developing abs and soft love-handles all on display for the other boys to admire. Harry was just so - - just so _beautiful_ in the morning, sunlight catching him at all the right angles, pale skin practically glowing in the gentle golden light, hair ridiculously curly and _soft._

“Liam? S’goin’ on?” He sounded confused, if a little worried, and rightfully so, if Louis was honest. It must’ve looked a little concerning, with one of Louis’ hands still tangled in Liam’s soft hair and his other hand clasped tight on Niall’s right forearm, shit-eating grin adorning the Irish lad’s lips. “Why’s Lou rippin’ your hair out and bruisin’ Niall’s arm? And why’s Niall got alcohol out that _isn’t_ poured?”

Liam choked on his saliva, spluttered as he tried to collect himself and Niall erupted into laughter, planting the wine bottle firmly down on one of the stools so he wouldn’t knock it, arms in a cross over his chest as he threw his head back, eyes closed.

“Woah woah _woah,_ Harold,” Louis gasped melodramatically, holding the back of his palm to his forehead like a cringy primary school drama performance. “Alcohol _before_ breakfast? What kind of _monster_ have you transformed into?”

“One that Zayn – _ack,_ has obviously created,” Liam coughed, resting his forearms on the counter and leaning his left cheek against them. “He’s the only one who drinks at - - “ He paused to check the plain black watch on his wrist, still coughing a little. “Eleven-fifty-eight in the morning. Only one who ever considers it, really.”

“Morning drinks aren’t _that_ bad,” Harry insisted, moving past the counter where the other three boys were and into the main kitchen, unhooking his apron where it was hanging near the stove and slipping it on, tying the back strings and adamantly ignoring Niall’s teasing little, “Oh, so he’s a _real_ Disney princess, goddamn.”

“Morning drinks are _terrible!”_ Louis protested, sliding off the counter and moving behind Harry, wrapping his arms around the younger’s torso and squeezing so Harry was pulled against his bare chest. Harry squeaked in surprise, curling back into Louis anyway before descending into a fit of soft laughter. “I mean, seriously Haz, alcohol in the morning always messes with your head, makes you fuzzy n’ stuff.”

Shaking his head, still laughing quietly, Harry twisted in Louis’ grip, managing to break away before he moved to the pantry to find whatever he was looking for. “I don’t know, I’ve never really minded them. Had my first when I was, like - - um, when I was around fourteen. Liked it well enough.”

Louis pouted and whined out a little, “He’s lost his mind, I tell you,” before he retreated and launched himself back up on to the counter, making Liam squawk in surprise and jerk backwards, almost falling off the stool in an attempt to avoid being landed on. Niall was watching Harry with a close eye, trying to identify what he had in store for breakfast, before he let out a shriek of joy and cried, “Oh _fuck,_ Styles, I _love_ you!”

Harry had pulled out the bag of spiral pasta from the pantry, throwing it in Niall’s direction for the blonde to catch and hold in his lap, bottle of wine on the stool long forgotten. Louis snorted as Niall continued to spectate Harry’s movements throughout the kitchen – pure entertainment, in Louis’ opinion – Harry pulling out the appliances he’d need before setting up a pot of water to boil on the steadily heated stove. “Love you too, Ni,” Harry giggled, not facing them as he continued his work, only pausing to tighten the apron on his toned body.

Louis gulped and turned away, pretending not to notice the way Harry’s steadily defining muscles flexed with every movement. What was he even feeling?

He didn’t know, and in all honesty, he didn’t _want_ to know.

The sliding glass door leading to the backyard, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through, slid open quietly and Louis turned to see Zayn slip through the gap, closing the gap behind himself, tapping away ferociously at his phone keyboard before stuffing it in his pocket and looking up. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise to see everybody awake at this hour,” he commented, voice raspy – undoubtedly from the smoke. Louis could smell the lasting scents of the cigarettes (and possibly weed, but Louis couldn’t really differentiate the scents) and grinned devilishly at his friend, who returned it with a complimentary wink that would definitely have any girl swooning.

“Woulda thought you’d all want to get your beauty sleep.” He was still holding a smouldering cigarette in his left hand, something Louis previously hadn’t noticed, but he seemed to be the only one as Harry turned and shot Zayn a disapproving frown, eyes flickering between their friend’s face and the cigarette.

“No smoking indoors,” he mumbled, gaze still sparkling at Zayn despite the scolding as he turned back to the stovetop, water boiling in the pot, turning the heat down before gesturing to Niall for the bag of pasta. The blonde threw it and Harry gripped it mid-air without turning around before ripping it open and pouring the carbohydrates into the boiling water, wincing as a stray droplet of hot liquid connected with his skin. Louis jerked in his place, deciding between going to Harry’s side worriedly or calmly because. Well. Either way, he was going to go to the curly-headed lad’s side.

Just as Louis got up and moved to grab a washcloth that was hanging on the oven bar, going over to the sink to soak it in cold water, he heard Zayn snort and say, “Well, mister policeman Styles, I’m not _actually_ smoking in here. I came to throw this damn thing out, because I don’t wanna litter your yard with cigar ash.” The tell-tale sign of the plastic bin near the glass sliding doors was proof enough of that, Louis moving to Harry’s side with a now cold-water-soaked washcloth, the tap having been flicked off almost-subconsciously. He slowly caressed the soaked fabric along the reddened skin on the curly-headed boy’s arm, Harry yelping in surprise before turning to face Louis, wide-eyed, hand stilling where he’d been clutching a wooden spoon and stirring the pasta through the boiling liquid. The noise of the other three boys bickering in the background slowly descended into static, moving to the back of his mind as he gently moved the washcloth up and down his delicate skin where the brief burning had happened, feeling each little difference in the surface of Harry’s skin through the thin fabric.

He looked up, and all he saw was that familiar soft emerald-green, so beautiful and bright that Louis couldn’t help but smile, rubbing his thumb over the cool washcloth, briefly going over the edge and his skin connecting with Harry’s and. Well. The hitch in Harry’s breath and the slow goose-bumps raising along his skin being his response made Louis’ cheeks flush red, and the only thing that distracted him was Niall’s flirtatious wolf-whistle in the background, barely audible over the _HarryHarryHarry_ trap his mind had slowly but surely collapsed into.

“ _Jesus_ , I thought when we’d live in this bungalow together I wouldn’t be fifth-wheeling, but wow- _wee_. This isn’t a nice feeling.”

Louis whipped around and Harry coughed quietly ( _anxiously)_ , using his hand not clutching the wooden spoon to press the washcloth into his cooling skin, right where Louis’ own fingers had been just a few milliseconds ago, before he’d let go to face the kitchen counter again. Niall was still sitting on the marble surface, but what took Louis’ gaze away from the blonde was Liam and Zayn tangled together on Liam’s stool, Zayn carding his fingers through his hair softly before looping his arms around Liam’s neck and pressing his face into the soft skin.

“Li’s _warm,”_ Zayn mumbled, cuddling closer as Liam flushed red, hands stiffly by his sides, unsure of where to place them. “Can you blame me?”

“Oh, he’s _definitely_ high,” Louis sneered, shooting Liam a wink before he slung himself up on to the marble counter once more, right in front of Niall, who squawked in surprise. “Zayn is _never_ that affectionate unless he’s high off his arse.”

“Unlike you,” Liam spluttered, always at the ready to defend a friend under attack – whether it be verbal or physical. “I mean, seriously, you were _just_ treating Harry like a prince!”

“I’m just _built_ like that,” Louis crowed, smirking and rolling his eyes as he shifted so he was sitting on the backs of his palms, legs hanging off the side of the countertop. “I was _bred_ to be an emotional bitch who likes to show people that I care.”

Harry giggled from the stovetop, starting to hum the tune of _Isn’t She Lovely_ under his breath and Louis scrunched his nose, eyes fluttering closed, biting his bottom lip and averting his eyes with a soft smile as Niall cackled and rasped out, “You like that song a lot, Harry.”

Harry giggled, pausing his humming of the soft tune to concoct a response. “I just, erm, y’know, like the song, yeah? It makes me think about the future. And like, Louis was being all, like, _Louis_ and erm, the song is just… I’m gonna shut up because I’m not making any sense.”

“The song reminds you of Louis being himself?” Niall asked, brows furrowed in confusion as Liam chuckled and Zayn smirked into the brown-haired boy’s neck, a useless attempt at veiling his amusement. “But I thought you just said it makes you think about the future?”

“Because he wants Louis in his life in - - “

“Because he’s one of my best-friends!” Harry interjected quickly, all high-pitched and flushed as he continued working at the stove, having at some point retrieved a bottle of pesto and another of tomato sauce from the pantry. “And so are you guys. I want you all in my future.”

“Aww, he’s a sappy one!”

“Shut up, Zayn, or I won’t feed you.”

The stove beeped and there was the tell-tale noises of Harry shuffling around, filtering the water from the pasta and into even amounts in the five bowls he’d prepared. Louis watched carefully, washcloth still perched on Harry’s arm, cool water providing a sort of sticker to keep the soaked fabric on his pale skin as he served Niall a bowl of pasta, sauces clutched in his other hand as he sat the bottles on the end of the marble counter that Louis and Niall weren’t perched on. Louis shuffled off the counter and on to another stool so Niall could place his bowl where the eldest of the band was sat, the blonde licking his lips and grinning so wide in Harry’s direction that Louis was surprised his entire face didn’t split open.

“Harry,” Niall mumbled around a mouth-full of pasta as Harry finished allocating pasta bowls, sliding into the stool beside Louis so he himself could start eating. “Why’s it called a bungalow? Like, why not a cottage, or something?”

“Bungalow’s better than calling it a cottage, when you think about it,” Zayn pointed out, having crawled out from his cuddling with Liam and sluggishly sat himself on his own stool, pupils dilated almost unusually so – undoubtedly from the weed. “Sounds like Disney-ish. No offense, Harry.”

“All offense taken,” Harry joked as he swallowed a spoonful of pasta, coughing a little afterwards because of the temperature. “I would’ve quite liked to call this place a cottage but like, s’bit too big for that, innit?”

“And we don’t live with seven strange and small men,” Louis laughed, pausing his eating to squirt some more tomato sauce on the food. “I don’t mind that so much. The cooking is fabulous enough to make up for the lack of sexual appeal.”

Harry swatted Louis’ arm in mock offense and Liam interjected jokingly that, “No, Louis, there’s plenty of sexual appeal here – you’re just a creep who doesn’t want to be with someone younger than thirty.”

“Untrue!” Louis cried, but he was giggling along with the others, Niall laughing around another mouthful of food, which okay, yeah it was gross, but Louis couldn’t really blame him.

It was still strange to all them, how easy their friendship was flowing because in reality, they should’ve still been strangers. They’d been thrown in a group together because it was what a multi-millionaire desired, and they hadn’t really interacted beyond texting since the fateful day on the stage, yet they still managed to know each other better than their own families did. Louis hadn’t really thought about it, if he was honest, because the constant texting made the social distance between them all seem less significant, less prominent, and in a way, that was correct. Here they were, living together for a total of seventeen days out of twenty, and they were already attached at the hip, best-friends despite how unrealistic it was.

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t realistic, though. They were best-friends, interlocked forever, whether they liked it or not. And they really, really liked it.

And - - shit, okay, as he emerged from his far too complex mind, Louis was _not_ expecting to see Harry deep-throating his spoon to amuse Niall – who was absolutely losing his _shit,_ mind you, pounding his fist on the marble counter as he cackled uncontrollably – Harry’s eyes wide and innocent as he grinned around the metal object. Zayn was chuckling too, spooning another mouthful of pasta into his mouth as his eyes flickered over to Liam, who was biting his bottom lip and looking away in an attempt to suppress his light-hearted giggles that all the boys were horribly fond of.

Louis - - well. He didn’t even want to know what he looked like, if he was completely honest, _especially_ as Harry slowly withdrew the spoon from his mouth and drawled in a faux-seductive tone, “What, is that, ahem, _too intense_ for you, Niall?”

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Niall choked, cackling as he clasped a hand over his heart and tossed his head back, unable to control his amusement. Louis was giggling to himself too, adamantly ignoring the red flush overtaking his cheeks, seeing Zayn start to genuinely laugh, too, Liam even giving in a little. “What happened to little innocent Harold that we met in the _X-Factor,_ huh? Gone, in a span of just over a month?” Liam teased, allowing himself a tiny smile. “You look awfully experienced in the spoon deep-throating industry.”

Harry winked, giggling as he swallowed a spoonful of pasta coated in pesto, licking his lips in such a way that made Louis look away, gulping quietly. “All gone, Payno. All gone.”

Most of the time, Harry was just as innocent – if not more so – as his wide eyes and bouncing curls made him appear. His nose moved when he talked at the same time as smiling, he looked close to tears whenever his mum, sister or friends told him they loved him and always broke out into contagious grins at the smallest of amusements. He loved stargazing and watching clouds shift into cute shapes and had a leather diary where he wrote ideas for love songs that Louis hoped one day to read and possibly write, even if it meant he had to steal the damn book from Harry.

So. Yeah. Times like then, when Harry would do something completely and utterly inappropriate yet devilishly attractive, were often shocking. But Louis didn’t mind. It provided good entertainment (even if it implied that Harry wasn’t a total virgin which, okay, wasn’t a complete surprise, but Louis still found it uncomfortable to consider).

He dug into his pasta again as a way of distracting himself, licking his lips as he swallowed and nudged Harry in the ribs. “Thanks, babes. Tastes legendary.”

And Harry giggled, and Louis wanted to have the sound replay in his head for eternity.

_(29 th of August)_

It was the eighteenth day of living in the bungalow together, all of them cuddled up on the sofa watching _Friday the 13 th, _the _2009_ remake when Niall, around a mouthful of popcorn he’d stolen from the pantry, brought it up.

Louis was against the left cushioned arm of the sofa, hand in Harry’s hair, just gently massaging the younger’s scalp and threading through his curls, the curly-headed boy all curled up into his side like a cat, legs tangled with Zayn’s, who was half-across his section of the couch and Liam’s body.

Niall was at the opposite end of the sofa, eyes trained on the television, where the killer was tying up one of the girls above the burning fire, ready to roast her alive. He had one of his hands shoved into a bag of popcorn, body all cuddled up between the arm of the plush furniture and Liam. His eyes never left the playing scene as he mumbled around his current mouthful of popcorn, “You touch Harry a lot, Lou. Why? I get that you touch everyone a lot, but like, yeah.”

Louis paused his head massage, Harry making a disapproving noise in the back of his head and moving closer to Louis in an attempt to make him start again. Instead, Louis raised an inquisitive eyebrow in Niall’s direction, adamantly ignoring the valiant kick his heart gave in his chest and schooling his face into an amused expression, trying to convey that _no,_ he _definitely_ didn’t sleep better if he had his cheek pressed against the back of Harry’s neck, not at all.

“You said it yourself, he touches everybody a lot,” Zayn pointed out without looking away from the television, cuddling slightly closer to Liam’s body and sighing in content. “Him touching Harry is probably just him being a clingy arse. Nothing new.” And yeah, Zayn was right when he said that because Louis often clung to Zayn like a koala or sat in Liam’s lap with his arms around the brown-haired boy’s neck.

“He barely touches me,” Niall protested, glaring at Louis through squinted eyes, making Harry giggle like a little schoolboy.

“That’s because I don’t like you,” Louis told him with a wicked grin, making Niall squeak in retaliation.

“You do like me!”

“I do not.”

And they’d gone back and forth like that until Niall had leapt from his place on the sofa, bag of popcorn forgotten as it fell to the floor, the blonde moving to strangle Louis, who had fallen from his place on the lounge and yelped as he collided with the floor, Niall spiritedly tackling him as they began to wrestle, the point behind it all forgotten in an instant.

And yeah, they were brothers and yeah, it was permanent.

_(30 th of August)_

It was two more days before they leave for Judge’s House, and they were out in the backyard having a marshmallow and popcorn missile war, all of them (except for Zayn who, in all honesty, could handle it twice as good as the rest of them) halfway high on weed and cackling like morons. They’d dragged the spare mattresses out on to the grass and shoved them all together to form a huge bed in the centre, blankets piled together and a sheet stretched across via metal poles they’d found in the closet to form a sort of tent that wasn’t really a tent, but that didn’t matter.

Sure, they may have been high, but that didn’t stop Liam was pausing his aggressive marshmallow throwing to ask a timid, “Should we, I guess, erm, practice? Like, the song?”

Harry, Zayn and Niall paused their throwing to make semi-interested faces, but Louis groaned and slid under the sheet to flop down on to the blankets and mattresses, placing a dramatic hand over his forehead.

“We only have two days left,” Liam slurred, but he didn’t sound very enthusiastic or genuine about wanting to practice as he joined Louis on the mattresses and pulled his knees to his chest as the other three collapsed down with them, Harry shuffling into Louis’ side and muffling a soft giggle into the elder’s shoulder. Louis, the weed in his veins making it a bit harder for him to concentrate, fought off the faint blush trying to infiltrate his cheeks.

“We can practice tomorrow,” Louis retorted, giggling and snatching the sole joint they had from Zayn’s hands and taking a hefty drag, much to Niall’s amusement. “We’re too high right now, anyway. ‘Cept for Zayn. He’s not _really_ high. But like, we don’t even have to choose a song for ourselves. We have nothin’ to worry about, Payno.”

Which was actually true, a fact that still managed to make a little jolt of surprise hit Louis’ system at full force. Not even an hour before they’d started this food war, and gotten started on the weed, Zayn had received a call from _Simon Cowell_ himself, much to the boys’ shock.

“The guest judges, to put it lightly, requested to add songs to the earlier rounds of the show instead of waiting like we’d usually do each season,” Simon had explained, his rather powerful and terrifying voice made tinny and pathetic through the terrible quality of Zayn’s phone’s speakers. “So, you boys will be performing Natalie Imbruglia’s _Torn._ Louis, I’m assuming you’re here, I’ll forward you a file of the song to work with as backing vocals and music when you begin practicing. Don’t let me down. Good luck.”

And then he’d hung up before they could answer.

Louis knew Liam had a point, but seriously, they were _way_ too high and it was too late at night to start anything as serious and as loaded as that. But then Zayn pressed himself into Liam’s side and laughed out an idea that they couldn’t possibly refuse, and Liam’s half-assed idea to rehearse was entirely forgotten.

“ _Wait,”_ Zayn chuckled, not sounding _nearly_ as high as the rest of them (although, Louis supposed Zayn was much more used to the drug intake than the rest of them, Louis being the only other in their quintuple to have ever been at least _close_ to high), adjusting himself where he was squeezed between Louis and Liam, back pressed to Louis’ back and legs across Liam’s lap, Liam having dragged a few pillows to create a stack to lean against. “Wait a second, we should talk about our sex lives.”

They all broke out into those giggles provoked by weed, and Louis could practically hear Zayn’s eyeroll in disappointment at how they couldn’t handle the drug. “Okay, but seriously!” He continued, voice a little more high-pitched than usual. “How have we not done that yet? I mean, like, we’re five best friends and we’ve lived together for seventeen days, yet we don’t have any sexual blackmail to use against each other. Do we even deserve to _call_ each other friends if we haven’t done that?”

“Holy _fuck,_ he’s actually right,” Niall squeaked, breaking out into another batch of wild giggling, crushing himself into Harry’s side, the youngest of the group still cuddled into Louis’ ribs. “We’re _so_ stupid, oh my god, let’s _go._ Zayn, start, this was your idea. _”_

Zayn snorted, but didn’t hesitate before he dove into it. “I mean, it’s nothing too impressive, but I’ve fooled around with guys and girls, and one that was non-binary but they, erm, they’re not out yet so I never said anything.” He paused to catch his breath, chuckling before he continued. “I’ve fucked a girl or two and like, it was pretty good both times. Apparently I’m good, n’ whatever. I don’t know, I feel like topping was pretty underwhelming for me, so I don’t think I did that good. I’ve also, like, given four blowjobs, but, erm, that’s it.”

“That’s _it?_ You don’t consider that a _lot?”_ Niall squeaked, fixing Zayn with a wide-eyed stare. “Jesus, I wish I’d done that. I’ve had _one_ girl, and _that’s_ it. You talk _so much_ with weed in your system, Zayn. I have blackmail for a _century_ now.”

Zayn giggled – _actually fucking giggled_ – and said, “I mean, that was kind of the point when you think about it. We can collectively end each other’s careers for fun.”

They all broke out into soft laughter before they fell silent, waiting for somebody to go next. Liam decided to, voice high-pitched and nervous sounding. “I’ve been, like, blown before, but that’s all. Never really wanted full sex, I think. Or like, never thought about it.”

Zayn kicked him teasingly, and Louis could sense his grin as the darker skinned boy said, “That’s our little Payno. Always focusing on his success instead of getting laid. I’m not surprised.”

“Neither,” Louis and Harry said in sync and they shared a little look before breaking out into shy giggles, averting their gazes from each other.

A moment or two of silence, before:

“I’m a virgin,” Harry blurted out, hiding his face in Louis’ shoulder and cuddling a little closer like he’d just revealed his deepest darkest secret.

There was a sort of stunned silence which. Okay. Yeah, it was justified because seriously, who would’ve thought _Harry fucking Styles_ was a virgin? Louis couldn’t help but be surprised – especially considering the spoon situation, Christ – and the boys were the same, but they weren’t the other thing that Louis was – a nosy bastard.

“What, like a full virgin?” He asked, not looking at his friend, his high intensifying all the emotions he was feeling – including the little spark of fire in his abdomen that made his head a little fuzzy. “No head, given or received, or - - or anything?”

Harry nodded shyly, mumbling out a soft, “Yeah.”

The other three boys made a collective sound of surprise before Niall blurted out, ever curious and unfiltered, “Wait a damn _second_ , have you ever even _had_ an _orgasm?”_

“Yes, of course I have!” Harry squeaked in protest, sounding offended at the assumption that he hadn’t. “Of course I have. Jesus, just like, not because another person, erm…”

“Gave it to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that just means someone needs to fuck the virgin out of him, eh, Lou? You’d know how,” Niall teased and Louis spluttered, brain still somehow functional even with all the weed intake because. Well. One of his best-friends had just told him to fuck another one of his best-friends that he may or may not have felt more than friendship for, and he’d expected his high ass to _not_ react?

But, even through his high, Louis felt an intense ache in his chest.

Sure, they may have been decent singers, but they were going up against groups who had years of experience over them. If anything, they’d be extremely, _extremely_ lucky to even be allowed _in_ the door at Judges’ Houses. Common-sense dictated that it would be a damn _miracle_ if they were still in a band together in another two weeks, let alone four or five years down the road.

The ache was from looking around at the four boys and _sensing_ that they were going to click, that they had already clicked, that they had become _brothers,_ inseparable no matter what. They connected so damn well that it had been just under three weeks they were already like _that_ , this sprawling monster of limbs and cuddles, laughing their high asses off over insignificant things that they’d probably shame themselves for in the future but didn’t care for then.

It hurt to look around and see people who were already his best friends and possessing the knowledge that his time with them had an end date.

And so did his time with the green eyed, curly-haired boy.

\--

_(31 ST of August)_

The next day at nine-forty-seven in the morning, Zayn received another urgent call from Simon.

“We’ve received final updates. You boys can extend your stay at the bungalow for another two to three days,” he’d told them over the phone, voice monotone and low quality through the speakerphone. “We judges have decided to allocate a longer break for the groups so you can continue to get to know each other. I’d recommend only taking two days instead of three, for it would be in your best interests to be ready for the airport as soon as possible instead of leaving everything to the last minute, as unfortunate contestants always seem to do. I hope you’ve been practicing.”

He’d hung up again before they could respond, and Louis had promptly clicked his fingers at Niall and said, “Fetch your guitar, you Irish lug. Harry, call your dad to let him know we’re elongating our stay. Liam was right yesterday, and we’ve been given another two days to put that into action. We’ve got a competition to win. Time to _rehearse!”_

Four or five hours later and they’d run through _Torn_ so many times that Louis swore the tune of it was permanently ingrained in his mind – much to his displeasure. Sure, it was a great song, something powerful and interesting, but one could get sick of such a song fairly easily. Even Liam was beginning to tire of the constant rehearsing, all his ‘commitment to the competition’ display melting away the longer they bored themselves at working the vocals, the boy eventually not even bothering to sing when it came to his part and instead humming along with closed eyes.

Harry had eventually suggested that they toy around with some of their other favourites for some musical variety and to gain an understanding of how each of their voices blended together, and they’d began the process with _Isn’t She Lovely_ itself, almost like a brand that read _Harry_ in bold red letters.

After jumping between _Isn’t She Lovely_ and _Hey Jude_ (which they stopped toying with pretty soon, finding it a bit sacrilegious to be singing such a classic when they barely had grasps on how to use their voices to the best of their abilities), they soon discovered that Harry and Louis’ voices mixed beautifully, creating a beautiful flow in any song, any melody, and Louis didn’t know how _that_ made him feel, except _light-heade_ d. At least Zayn and Liam’s voices also complimented each other almost as well as Harry and Louis’ did, making him feel a little less exposed – which he didn’t even know _why_ he was feeling in the first place, mind you. Niall’s vocals were too unique to really blend with anybody’s though, which made the blonde ecstatic, glad that ‘ _he didn’t have to mix with any vocals belonging to a cunt’,_ which made them all break out into soft giggles.

They were constantly reminding each other that any song they performed in the competition had to be recognisable yet not overplayed – simple enough to learn yet not overly so, in order to keep it from being something akin to a karaoke cover. A song that would define them amongst their fellow competitors – something to remember them by.

“Have any of you guys written your own music before?” Liam asked curiously when they paused for a water and snack break, Niall fishing out a box of chocolates from the fridge before returning to the group and promptly collapsing on top of Liam who was on the couch, guitar braced against the arm of the piece of furniture. Louis was leaning back on his forearms on the floor, legs out in front of him, Harry laying sideways across him with the younger planting his head on Louis’ chest, curls splaying out like a halo. Zayn was at opposite end of the sofa to Liam and Niall, legs tangled with Liam’s while Zayn knocked back a quarter litre of water (Louis caught Liam watching with wide eyes, but he pretended not to notice, for Liam’s sake. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease the younger for it in private, because he definitely would, but he’d spare his friend the public questioning).

“Like, lyrics? Or solely instrumental stuff? Or like, an actual song?” Zayn questioned once he’d downed the water, swallowing roughly. “Or just, whatever?”

“Jesus Zayn, do you ever shut up when it comes to specifications?” Louis teased and Zayn tossed the empty water bottle at the eldest of the band, the plastic smacking into Louis’ head, making the eldest member of the band yelp while Harry burst into soft laughter, tone raspy and sounding abused from the constant use. Louis tried not to shiver.

“I mean, I have,” Harry mumbled after a few moments, shifting so his head brushed Louis’ lower abdomen over his shirt, making Louis jolt a little in surprise at the contact on such a sensitive part of his body. He felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment and tried to cover up his movement by coughing far too aggressively to be normal, but Harry didn’t seem to notice – or really care, remaining unmoving as he continued to talk. “Only like, three though. I don’t even really play guitar, but the songs are super heavy with it. I mean, Niall’s been teaching me, but I only just added the instrumental elements to each one, y’know?”

“Wait,” Niall started, brows lifted and an amused grin stretching across his face. “Wait, did you write _poems,_ Styles?”

Harry spluttered, trying to sit up, but Louis’ arms laced around his chest and pulled him back down to the floor, Harry trying to wrestle away. “Okay,” he coughed as Louis flipped them, giggling, so he was straddling Harry and pressing him into the floor, hands coming up to pin Harry’s arms down. “Okay, so _maybe_ I wrote some poems, but they’re songs now! _Ow,_ Louis!”

Louis had accidentally nicked Harry in the jaw with a loose hand, Harry’s struggling having dislodged his grip just enough to get him to shift. “Sorry,” Louis laughed, background noise in the room reducing to static until his vision eventually began to blur too and it was just him and Harry. “Sorry, mate. But like, _poems?_ I knew you wrote love songs, but _poems?_ You really are the hopeless romantic of the group.”

“Says the one who likes flowers and reads psychology books in his spare time!” Harry teased, voice breaking a little as he half-heartedly wrestled against Louis’ grip, writhing around on the floor with Louis still seated on his thighs, grinning like the devil. “And like, they’re _actual_ songs now, guitar and piano n’ all, not just cringy words jotted down on paper when I’m bored.”

Louis thought he heard somebody – probably Zayn, because he was always the one to ask those types of questions – ask to hear one of the songs, but once Harry’s words fully filtered through his mind, Louis flushed pink and averted his eyes, scrunching his nose as he protested out a little, “Shut up. Flowers and psych books are cool. Even you _really_ think I’m romantic, then you’d know that I only like specific types of flowers and psych books and not just any old one on the bookshelf.”

And damnit, he shouldn’t have said that much, because _of course_ Harry would know exactly what to say. The curly-headed boy giggled fondly, giving one less useless attempt to break his hands out of Louis’ grip where they were pinned above his haloing curls, before he managed to get out, “Well, your favourite flowers are dandelions, and those are typical hopeless romantic flowers because they represent emotional healing.”

The air around them stilled, like the moment itself – like _time_ itself was waiting for them. Louis was frozen above Harry, the younger having paused beneath Louis before shifting uncomfortably, murmuring out a little _‘sorry, Lou’._

Louis was all flushed as he pulled away, standing up and dusting off his clammy palms on the front of his sweatpants, biting his lip anxiously. “Well, um. Okay. Let’s um, let’s practice.”

It shouldn’t have been such a significant thing, it _shouldn’t have been,_ Harry knowing his favourite flower and one of his favourite hobbies. It shouldn’t have _mattered,_ because he knew if it had been Liam or Zayn or Niall or Stan he’d been wrestling with and they’d spewed out that he loved dandelions and reading psychology books when he was bored, he wouldn’t have cared. At all.

But he did, because it had been _Harry._ And he didn’t know what to make of that.

He could feel Harry’s eyes trained on him, but Louis adamantly ignored the feeling, slamming himself down in the middle of the sofa, right on top of Liam and Zayn’s intertwined ankles, making both of them wince in pain. “You’re not even heavy enough to deal any damage, Tommo,” Liam teased quietly, awkwardly, almost like he didn’t know if he could. Louis, still ignoring Harry on the floor, shot his friend a grin, cheeks still flushed, and replied a little breathlessly, “Yes, I indeed know that, Liam, but I’m still heavy enough to make you uncomfortable.”

Niall attempted making some stupid jokes to clear the awkward air, but they ended up deciding to go through _Torn_ once more instead, finding that the music distracted them all from what had just occurred. Louis only risked glances at Harry when he knew the younger’s eyes were elsewhere, and each time his heart jolted in his chest and his cheeks flamed in embarrassment, quickly looking away.

That didn’t change that the more they played with it, the more prominent the tingling feeling steadily growing in Louis’ palms became, like a rush of adrenaline bombarding his entire system mercilessly. He knew they were on the cusp of something, something _big,_ something to finalise the song and it felt _real_ and it felt _right._

He wanted to look at Harry, _wanted_ to meet his wide and excited and curious eyes, but he couldn’t. Too scared, too pussy, whatever it was, that was him. “Wait, _wait,_ Lou, project your voice a little more at ‘ _illusion never changed into something real’_ ,” Liam suggested, eyes bright with intellect and ideas and jolting Louis out of his thoughts. “I think, like, maybe your higher vocals will compliment Zayn’s because he’s majoring here and we didn’t really toy with that combo before.”

“Hey, I think he’s on to something,” Zayn agreed, licking his lips and shooting an affectionate grin in Louis’ direction. “C’mon Tomlinson, let’s give it a go.”

And they did, and it _clicked._

He still couldn’t look at Harry, but he could feel the curly-headed boy looking at him.

…

_(2 nd of September)_

Gradual and calm packing turned into frantic and last-minute packing – what Simon had warned them against in the first place, but none of them acknowledged that or even _remembered –_ as the boys’ departure date fell upon them. Harry’s useless attempts at playing _Snow White_ and doing the laundry were often given up on when Louis started a completely pointless food fight and stained even more clothes or Niall accidentally broke a part of the pantry, or their collective stupidity simply took over the last parts of their functional brains. They’d quickly given up on neatly packing, given up on folding the clothes to fit nicely, eventually resorting to just stuffing any visible clothing item into any available suitcase without bothering to see who owned which piece.

Louis was one-hundred-percent sure half of the clothes he’d packed in his own case weren’t _actually_ his, but he hardly cared about that, considering they could all relate. He knew for a fact that Niall had definitely stolen some of his band tees and Liam’s flannels and Harry had stolen a whole lot of his sweaters and football jerseys, but Louis didn’t really mind. He had plenty of the things that his boys had taken, anyway, and he’d definitely deserved some of his stuff to be taken considering he was sure he’d snatched at _least_ six pairs of Harry’s sweatpants and three of Zayn’s graphic hoodies without even realising it.

But it was all whatever. They didn’t care about all the clothes – hardly cared about their belongings at all. They’d stopped remembering what they owned and what was somebody else’s only a few days after moving into the bungalow, Harry having been the original culprit of clothing robbery when he’d raided Louis’ suitcase and slipped on one of his _huge_ grey hoodies that was just _so warm_ that Harry couldn’t have resisted if he tried, Niall having hastily followed his example and stolen one of Zayn’s pairs of sweatpants without hesitance.

Speaking of Niall, the blonde had been instrumental in getting Louis and Harry back to normal (not that the two overly-affectionate boys would ever admit to that, _ever)_ and they’d fallen back into their usual ways pretty quicky, both of them adamantly ignoring what had happened two days prior on the floor in the living space. _(“It’s painful watchin’ you two so awkward ‘round each other!” Niall had complained one morning over breakfast, Harry having choked on his cereal and Louis flushing red in the cheeks with embarrassment. Zayn and Liam had pretended not to notice the conversation, falling into their own private bickering as Harry and Louis had met eyes across the table, a silent exchange of words, an agreement to talk later.)_

Louis had tugged Harry aside a few hours later, the day up until that point having consisted of them getting more touchy-feely with each other once more, making an effort to get more comfortable.

They hadn’t even really needed to talk about it, thank god. Louis had gone in for the kill, a relentless apology already on his lips, but he wasn’t able to open his mouth before Harry shook his head and mumbled a gentle little, “It’s okay, Lou. S’okay.”

And so they’d gone back to normal. Harry and Louis, Louis and Harry. _LouisAndHarry._

The five boys parted ways – _far_ too emotionally, in Louis’ opinion – and shared their final meetings with their families before they were off to Judges’ Houses. Harry and Louis had stayed locked together a little longer than the others, an uncommunicated apology running thick in the air between them before they’d parted, teary eyed and smiling softly.

_Judges’ Houses._

Holy fucking shit.

Jay, being the sweetest mother absolutely possible, had made a breakfast reservation for a local café and despite all the noise, it was the perfect thing to prepare Louis for the (unlikely but still possible) entirely too lengthy separation from his favourite girls in the entire universe. They’d been there for little more than an hour and all of their plates had been cleaned up, meaning that he only had a little time left before he was off to the airport and he just had to crack a stupid joke before he crumbled into tears that wouldn’t stop, _ever._ So he clinked his mug of coffee against Lottie’s, making his sister clap him over the back of the head with a somehow sharp-but-giggly, “Honestly, _Lewis,_ I’m considering signing you up for illegal castration as soon as you get home.”

Jay cleared her throat loudly beside Fizzy, but she was smiling into her steaming cup of tea as her children bickered playfully. “Why illegal?” Louis spluttered melodramatically, setting his mug down and clasping the back of his palm to his forehead. “To cause me more pain than absolutely necessary?”

Lottie slapped him again, making him yelp and bat her shoulder half-heartedly as she responded. “Exactly. Maybe I could get Fizzy to help sneak you away to a dog castration facility so it’s even more painful.”

“Uh-uh,” Fizzy said from her place across the table, shaking her head with a slight grin on her face. “I refuse to get involved in whatever illegal thing you two idiots are planning. I’m already in enough trouble with mum for smoking _one joint.”_

Jay clucked her tongue and swallowed another hot sip of tea before she interjected. “She’s right. And smarter than you two, considering she’s deciding to keep herself out of trouble until she’s ungrounded again.”

“It’s still one joint,” Louis teased, winking at his mother, knowing full damn well he had no right to say it, considering his own history of joint smoking. Fizzy fixed him with such a fierce glare he was surprised he didn’t burst into flames.

“Says the one who got absolutely _shit-faced_ at his first party,” she threw back with a raised eyebrow and Louis was giggling along with them all, covering his mouth self-consciously (and also to mask his slowly broadening smile because seriously, if his family saw how happy he was right then, he would probably break down into tears). “Can’t even handle a little bit of alc, Christ. Can’t believe mum raised a lightweight.”

“Fizzy,” Jay warned, but she was laughing with the rest of them. It didn’t change the fact that Louis saw the tears already lurking in her eyes and sensed the ones in his own, but it postponed the inevitable crying that was, inevitably, going to occur as he left for the airport.

Louis forced a grin on to his face, reminding himself to keep it light, keep everything light, because he _would_ start crying if he didn’t and he knew that. To avoid the tears, he adopted his most interviewer-like voice to declare that he’d _maybe, no promises, keep in contact with them when he’d be famous and living in a mansion in Los Angeles with the other four boys, surrounded by his celebrity counterparts._ He claimed with a pointed wink at Fizzy that _he would only call if he ever felt like it and if he wasn’t out partying and getting drunk and high off his ass without consequence_ (and Fizzy shot him a rather inappropriate gesture, which Jay scolded her quietly for). 

Lottie eventually threw a balled-up napkin at him with a frustrated groan, hiding her face in her palms as they all descended into giggles again, Louis scrunching his nose affectionately as their group made to stand and Jay grabbed her purse off the centre of the table.

“Okay but, seriously, I want to say I’ll miss you guys. And - - and I’ll call every night, erm, and every morning if I can manage – or if I remember cus’ like, we all know I - - I have shit memory. I don’t like, know at all how long I’ll be gone, but I - - I’ll be thinking of you, a lot, y’know, when I can distract myself from my building fame.”

Honestly, _fuck him_ because he hadn’t kept his little speech short enough _at all,_ and the tears leaked down on to his cheeks without his permission. His sisters – even emotionless Fizzy – were wiping their own eyes and Jay was letting hers fall freely, which made it a little easier for him to snort out a watery laugh before he finished what he had been saying.

“I know there’s always things going on in - - in the music industry, yeah? Sabotage and unfairness and all the shit, but—”

He inhaled sharply, envisioning a soft halo of curls brushing against his tanned skin, laughter rising up around them and the faint strumming of guitar strings.

“I think - - I think it’s all going to be okay.”

They waved their final teary goodbyes to each other, Louis wiping fiercely at his eyes as he hailed a cab and gave directions to the airport to meet up with the other four boys, the rest of the _X Factor_ Groups, and the various crews that always joined the contestants each year.

\--

Almost immediately upon arrival, he spotted Zayn at one of the security lines (he wasn’t really paying attention to which, if he was totally honest). His friend was wearing a soft looking and worn in _Rolling Stones_ tee, dark grey sweatpants and a moon necklace dangling from around his throat like a prized possession. The silver metal kept on catching the light just right and almost blinding Louis whenever he looked at his friend, making Zayn snort and shake his head affectionately.

Once their bags were checked and they’d gone through the metal detectors (Zayn’s fear of them laser-zapping him if he had the slightest piece of metal on him – mainly the necklace, but he’d been cleared to wear it through the detectors – proving to be completely irrational, much to Louis’ amusement), they managed to catch a brief glimpse of a head of bleached and terribly messy blonde hair, beginning to make their way to the other members of their newly formed band, who were engaged in a seemingly aggressive conversation of their possible judge and destination.

“Maybe like, Mexico, or something,” Harry argued as Louis and Zayn walked up, sharing an amused glance before slowly melting themselves into the group, not even earning looks their way from any of their bandmates. “It has to be a cool place, right? Always is. We’ll have Cheryl, and we’ll go to Mexico. Katie thinks so, at least, and she’s almost never wrong.” The curly-headed, green-eyed boy was bundled up in a sweater and pants much too big for him, but he looked comfortable enough, curls soft and bouncy.

“Why Mexico?” Zayn questioned with an inquisitive eyebrow raise just as Liam protested, far too loudly to be necessary, judging by the looks they earned from a group of girls standing nearby, “There’s no way! Cheryl’s won for the past _two years!_ They’ll give her a weak category this time to hurt her chances. And Mexico? _Why Mexico?_ And seriously, your girlfriend from back home can’t _always_ be right.”

“Way to steal my question,” Zayn mumbled and Louis elbowed him in the ribs with a wicked grin, just as Harry cried out, “She’s not my _girlfriend!_ She’s my _best-friend,_ and yes, she’s almost always right!” Zayn rolled his eyes at the green-eyed boy’s exclamation and wrapped an arm around Louis’ shoulders, yanking Louis closer to his body, causing Louis to yelp in surprise and curl into Zayn’s side, who was laughing in his ear.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having Cheryl this year,” Niall mused, running a careless hand through his already insanely messy hair.

“I bet you wouldn’t,” Louis snarked, loud enough to announce his and Zayn’s official arrival to the group, Harry shrieking in surprise and collapsing into a three-way bear embrace with Louis and Zayn, almost like the five of them didn’t literally wake up all tangled up together like a damn shoelace.

A woman who seemed vaguely familiar, clutching a clipboard to her chest approaches them, hazel-brown hair in an almost unnaturally straight line down her back, face young and smiling as she takes in the boys. That was when Louis recognised her and exclaimed an affectionate, “Claudia!” Just as she reached the group.

“Hi Louis,” she laughed fondly, reaching their little circle as Harry broke away from Louis and Zayn, the latter two still standing with arms around each other. “Good to see you again. I’m assuming you five are…” She paused to scour her clipboard before her head shot up again and she finished, “One Direction?”

“Yep, we’re One Direction,” Harry answered Claudia proudly, taking the envelope from her grasp as she offered it to him with a friendly shake of her head. Harry had devised the name during a late movie night, and he took pride in that (much to Louis’ delight because seriously, seeing Harry so proud of himself made Louis _happy)_. It wasn’t really an impressive origin story, but they’d all liked it and it had ultimately stuck.

“Can you, I don’t know, possibly leak us the other group names?” Louis asked Claudia with a cheeky raise of his eyebrow and Claudia chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“I would if I could, Louis. But you find that stuff out about each other when you arrive at your destination. I’d recommend you open the envelope to save yourselves the dramatics. I’ll be coming with you lot to your location, anyway, so you’ll find out from me either way.”

“Please?” He batted his eyelids flirtatiously and leaned towards her, making Harry giggle and clasp a hand over his mouth self-consciously while the other boys rolled their eyes.

Claudia smiled before sighing in relent and passing Louis the clipboard, gesturing vaguely to the list of acts. “There you go. Don’t tell the big bosses I let you see this stuff.”

Louis was too absorbed in reading to offer more than an agreeing nod, but he distantly heard Liam half-heartedly apologising for his nosiness (the brown-haired boy obviously fairly curious himself) and Claudia reassuring him that _no, it’s okay, I know he’s an inquisitive one_.

**_ GROUP ACTS _ **

**_Belle Amie_ ** _|| Sophia Wardman, Rebecca Creighton, Esther Campbell, Geneva Lane._

 **_Diva Fever_ ** _|| Josef Al-Smadi, Craig Saggers._

 **_F.Y.D_ ** _|| Ryan-Lee Seager, Kalvin Lamey, Matthew Newton, Jordan Gabriel, Alex Murdoch._

 **_Husstle_ ** _|| Stacey Camps, Sam Grierson, Alannah Maggs, Carol Mounsey, Jessica Kozi._

 **_One Direction_ ** _|| Niall Horan, , Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson._

 **_Princes & Rogues _ ** _|| YET TO SUBMIT FINAL NAMES._

 **_The Reason_ ** _|| Marc Higgins, Nathan Rawlings, Glenn Vine, Scott White._

 **_Twem_ ** _|| Mehdi Ben Nouh, Samir Ben Nouh._

He handed Claudia the clipboard back with a breathed _thank you,_ Claudia shooting him a little wink that made him feel more comfortable in the huge space of the airport before the woman moved away, flicking her hair back over her shoulder.

Other groups were already opening their envelopes and chattering loudly, so Louis snatched the little thing from Harry’s grip and unsealed it rather roughly, letting the bundle of tickets and schedules fall into his palm. The other boys crowded around him to read and - -

“Spain!” Harry cried, jumping onto Zayn’s back in excitement, almost causing both Zayn and Louis to collapse from the sudden weight, the younger of the two linked boys yelping in surprise and reaching back an arm to help support Harry still on his back. “Guys, we’re going to _Spain_!”

Christ, they had barely any chance of making it past the next round, were facing the potential to return home within the same _week_ and back to considering how important their school and university grades were when it came to their future as individuals on Earth that _didn’t_ concern international music success.

But Louis - - he had faith, now. He could feel _something,_ whatever _something_ was, now. They’d sang together at the bungalow so many times that he’d lost count, truly, and had fallen into harmonies as though it was the easiest task in existence to complete.

He had faith and Louis, who had never even left the United Kingdom, was going to Spain.

\--

It may have been much more than that, but Harry couldn’t really describe Marbella, Spain as much more than sunshine and happiness.

The collection of contestants and insane counts of crews were transported directly from the airport they’d arrived at to the most breathtaking building Harry had ever laid eyes on. It was absolutely massive, scarily so – three stories high, a villa-slash-mansion type of structure (if there was even such a thing), surrounded by almost endless stretches of green and flourishing gardens, a crystal-clear tiled pool, water temperature _just_ perfect, fountains scattered throughout the entire property, and a pebbled pathway from the mansion’s doorstep down to the crashing waves of the sea. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale – a figment of somebody’s imagination.

“Is this what Catholic people envision when they like, think about Heaven?” He whispered to Zayn upon arrival, completely and utterly awed, eyes starry and glassy as he processed it all. Zayn chuckled, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders and tugging him close, the two of them squinting against the glaring sunlight and grinning like devils up at their luxurious home for the next three days.

“Who’s gonna break something first, do you reckon?” Zayn asked and Harry could almost _hear_ his smirk.

“Definitely Niall. He breaks _everything.”_

“’M righ’ here, Harry!”

Literal – okay, maybe not _literal,_ but Harry was alight with adrenaline and was going to be prone to exaggerate – _mountains_ of suitcases were being wheeled up into the extravagant building, followed by bags upon bags of camera equipment and cases of products that the contestants would fall victim to later on at the hands of their stylists and makeup crews. It all seemed a little anticlimactic, the dramatic setup of everything, minor or major, and Harry had never really thought of himself as much of an actor and could feel his anxiety building at each new camera making an appearance, knowing that eventually those would be trained on _him_ and he’d have to act like he _wasn’t_ terrified out of his mind. But as they were forced into filming a shot of the five of them walking down the aesthetic pebbled pathway to the house, talking ecstatically and linked together by little touches, Harry found he didn’t need to pretend much at all.

He _especially_ didn’t have to fake the grin that overtook his face when Louis wrapped an arm around his waist affectionately.

Next: _The Staging._ Capital letters required.

After he’d been through the auditioning process and bootcamp, Harry knew (at least in theory), that camera crews and interviewers were basically professional stalkers. Trained, semi-robotic stalkers that didn’t care much for the contestants and instead solely worried about the footage they collected, the answers they pulled from their victims and if said responses satisfied the endless need for _dramatization_. They captured every interaction, every nervous twitch and every single tear shed at every minute of every hour of every day, just _waiting_ to edit it and broadcast it to some social media platform or another. He also had an inept knowledge of how _well_ the production crews were at their job, at coordinating with said professional stalkers, and watching six previous years of the show through wide and curious eyes on his home television had taught Harry from ten years old that certain pieces of footage collected or a badly phrased response to a purposefully-badly-phrased-in-order-to-cause-confusion question asked while the cameras were rolling could royally fuck up a contestant’s entire chances at winning and get them out of the competition far too fast to be even respectable.

So, Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that an assistant, a middle-height, lean, blonde-haired and blue-eyed woman with sharp cheekbones, was standing at the top of the steps of the absolutely beautiful mansion (which Harry seriously doubted was _actually_ where their judge lived, Christ) and began to lecture ( _“Educate,” one of the production crew members had told them, and Harry had heard Louis snort quiet beside him)_ them about what was expected of them while the cameras were rolling. He was squeezed between Louis and Zayn, Liam on Zayn’s other side and Niall on Louis’. Harry had a hand fisted in the hem of Louis’ jacket, knuckles white as his body trembled _just_ enough for Louis to notice. He didn’t even know what he was all anxious over, just knew that he _was._

He didn’t understand. He didn’t have to, though.

“Hey Hazza,” Harry heard Louis murmur softly without looking at the curly-headed boy and Harry’s brain short-circuited for a moment, subconsciously shifting closer to his friend and drawing in a shaky breath, shaking his head and messing up his curls by doing so. Louis tutted affectionately, leaning into him just a fraction more to provide the physical comfort that he somehow _knew_ that Harry needed. “Hey, s’okay love. Just breathe for me, yeah? In for three, out for three.”

Harry would’ve liked to think it was just the comforting words that helped centre him as he followed the directions and inhaled for three seconds before exhaling for three and repeated it a few times, but he knew that it was really _Louis_ that calmed him in time before the cameras started rolling.

Harry nudged Louis slightly, just enough to get across his unspoken _thank you._ Louis didn’t do anything else when it came to movement towards Harry, but Harry didn’t miss the little quirk upwards in the corner of Louis’ mouth as the blonde woman began speaking.

“Hello, everybody. I offer you a big welcome on behalf of all of the staff here and anybody else you may come into contact with.” The assistant clicked her tongue once, twice, before she continued (much to Harry’s displeasure, mind you. Her entire posture was slowly making his anxiety build up again, and he didn’t think Louis – or anyone, for that matter – could exactly comfort him while they were being lectured because that would just start a bad rep for all of them, being distracted while receiving important instructions).

“Now, before we continue and you all split off into your respective groups, I am also here to introduce you to filming ground rules on this property. Nothing too complicated but be sure to listen in so you don’t miss anything important, just in case,” the assistant read in a horribly monotonous tone from the clipboard she was clutching, licking her lips momentarily before continuing. “We’ll start off simple. Point one – be sure to cheer _loudly_ for your mentor when they are revealed to you and the cameras. It’s pertinent to visually communicate your excitement at the prospect of having a very well-known celebrity possibly mentoring you after this stage in the competition.”

Harry was sufficiently snapped back into focus and he watched the woman carefully, squinting to read the little nametag on the left breast of her shirt. _Trinity._

And Harry had no idea what it would mean back then, but he could’ve sworn that it read _Modest! Management_ beneath Trinity’s capitalised and emboldened name.

“Point two – react _positively_ to _anything_ your judge says while you are present, if it is culturally appropriate and _isn’t_ racist,” Trinity continued to read, pausing once again to allow her eyes to flicker judgementally over the contestants gathered before her. “Report to me _directly_ if they make a racist or non-culturally appropriate joke and we’ll go through with our protocols for such a situation. Anyway, reacting positively provides your viewers with a good idol to pay attention to in the midst of this competition, showing that you are kind. Don’t abuse that overly, because it will come off as corny and unrealistic. That last little note actually relates to point three, which is aimed mainly at the two newly formed acts here – don’t be overly affectionate with fellow your fellow group members and contestants while the cameras are rolling. It doesn’t matter that you’re a group act, or that you’ve had bonding time away from the show, because you were all strangers before this competition and it would _also_ be corny and unrealistic to show how much you truly care for each other, considering the viewers are utterly oblivious as to how much time you spent with each other outside of _X-Factor._ Groups that actually auditioned as a group, the affection thing doesn’t apply as severely, because viewers assume you were close before the show.”

The contestants broke out into murmurs of surprise and even alarm in some cases, Harry hearing a slightly muffled _‘what bullshit’_ from Niall, his mouth quickly being covered by Louis’ hand furthest from the curly-headed lad, his other hand gripping the back of Harry’s jumper tightly. Usually they’d laugh about it, the stupidity of Louis having to publicly cover Niall’s mouth to shut him up, but Zayn was stiff beside Harry and he could assume that his other three best-friends were in similar states. “Careful, Niall,” Zayn murmured, already cautious, and that hurt Harry’s heart _so much_. “We don’t know if there are cameras rolling. And we don’t want to get in trouble for breaking the rules so early on in the day. Maybe later, but not right now. Not with that woman right there.”

The blonde grumbled, but Louis’ other hand fell back to his side and Harry knew that Niall understood.

And Harry didn’t want to freak himself out, not by a long shot, but he swore Trinity’s gaze lingered just that little bit longer on him and Louis as she waited for the noise to die down.

Louis’ slight hitch of breath beside him was indicator enough that he wasn’t alone in that assumption.

Trinity cleared her throat before she finished, voice still not shifting from that absolutely boring tone she seemed fond of using. “Point four – if a group hug or interaction is ever initiated by your mentor during the take or you are requested to form one by a person of the production crew, you are to act on it and join it. And finally, point five – if any unsatisfactory occurrence happens on camera, the scene will be reshot. This will repeat until the scene fits the coda prescribed.” She smiled a fake, phony smile, and Harry almost gagged. “Thank you for listening, contestants. Now, please be patient while we fixate the last of our requirements.”

Harry was still shaken by Trinity’s harsh gaze, but he was functional enough to process his confusion at how manufactured the show actually was from then on. At auditions and bootcamp, production and camera crews hadn’t _needed_ to create the dramatic atmosphere they were replicating (although Harry doubted they needed to do it in the first place, considering they were still in the competition and still under the threat of failure and being sent home with nothing as prize). As he took in his surroundings though, he supposed that the crews felt as though it was a required stunt, considering the heavy tension in the air seemed to be internal rather than external, contestants much preferring to compartmentalise than publicly freak out.

Harry was decidedly uncomfortable with the ‘reality television’ type of style they had to present on camera and he assumed the other four boys felt the same way, considering their jittery and oddly animated movements, but Harry found himself trembling with a toxic combination of entirely new information regarding how the show was _created_ and his own nerves by the time that all of the groups were deemed informed enough by Trinity and a collection of other staff members (most likely production crew, but they wore such similar clothes to Trinity that Harry theorised they could also be _Modest! staff)_ to allow them to meet their judge.

Claudia emerged from behind the mansion in typically dramatic fashion, smiling broadly at the gathered contestants before she arrived at Trinity’s side, looking a whole lot friendlier than her stock-still companion. “Hi everybody. Before we officially get started with all of the television dramatics, I’ll be reading out each group act. Please raise your hand when I call your name so we can all get to know each other.”

Another kind smile which lingered on the _One Direction_ boys, before she began to read in alphabetical order. “From _Belle Amie:_ Esther Campbell, Rebecca Creighton, Geneva Lane and Sophia Wardman.” The girls cheered for themselves and raised their hands, the fellow group acts falling into respectful applause – one that Niall and Harry started, the kind souls they were, all of the boys giving their own cheers for the girls, who giggled and smiled at them before turning their attention back to Claudia. Claudia shot the boys an approving nod, before she continued.

“From _Diva Fever:_ Josef Al-Smadi and Craig Saggers.” The duo raised their hands before letting them drop back down to their sides, the same respectful applause beginning with a lone cheer from one of the girls (Louis thought it was Esther, the girl seeming to be the least severe or competitive in the group, but he couldn’t be entirely sure).

“From _F.Y.D:_ Jordan Gabriel, Kalvin Lamey, Matthew Newton and Ryan-Lee Seager.” A repeat of what just occurred, with a lack of cheers. Turned out that nobody liked them much (and Harry included himself in that category, having only taken one shy look at the group and feeling a little bit sick with it, for no reason other than an instinctual disliking of them).

Claudia listed off _Husstle, Princess and Rogues, The Reason,_ and _Twem_ before she smiled a little wider and continued.

“And finally, from _One Direction:_ Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, and Louis Tomlinson.” Everybody erupted into supportive applause again, the _Belle Amie_ girls replicating the boys by cheering loudly for them, prompting Harry to hide his flushed cheeks and shy smile in Zayn’s shoulder as the noise died down and Claudia called out a _‘thank you’,_ before retreating back to wherever she’d appeared from in the first place.

There were gifted only a few more moments to organise themselves in an acceptable manner before the cameras were aggressively clicked on, lenses were fixed and the doors to the mansion swung open.

“ _Holy shit,_ we have _Simon,”_ Louis breathed, but he was drowned out by the over-the-top cheers provided by all of the fellow contestants (save for Harry, who was frozen in his place and only had the capability to lip sync his cheers). _“_ That’s _Simon fucking Cowell,_ holy _shit.”_

“We get it, Lou,” Zayn hissed by way of shutting Louis up, but he had an amused glimmer in his eyes that couldn’t be missed as the cheering died down and they fully processed their mentor’s presence before them. “We get it, we have Simon.”

Simon surveyed the collection of groups in front of him like a king observing his kingdom, holding out his arms, palms facing the sky as he welcomed them in a deep, powerful voice that Harry couldn’t help but flinch slightly away from. He introduced the guest judge – Sinitta, Harry thought her name was, but he couldn’t be sure he heard it correctly over this insistent static in his head. He barely managed to make out Simon explaining how the groups would be singing for the two of them that evening and that the final three would be announced the following evening for the live shows.

The contestants were guided to clap and cheer ecstatically once more – if Trinity’s awfully robotic clapping gestures from behind the cameras were anything to go by – and Harry’s hands were starting to ache and his feet hurt from breaking in his new _Converse All-Stars,_ before the cameras were cut and the eight acts were hurriedly relocated for another shot, this place around the back of the mansion, close to the luxurious pool and continued gardens. It was all a passing blur for Harry as he tried to steady himself, Zayn interlacing their fingers at some point to help ground him, the curly-headed boy obviously closer to floating away in his head than he thought he was letting on.

Their fingers stayed locked together as they filmed another rather cringy and manufactured shot before Simon and the guest judge retreated for the day, leaving the group acts to exhale and high-five each other in relief. Zayn had let go of his hand at some point and Harry could scarcely make out Trinity yelling out instructions that they needed to be fully-dressed and downstairs at five o’clock to begin the possibly lengthy styling process, but they could do whatever they fancied in the space between later and right then.

“Harry,” Zayn murmured, seeming to magically appear in front of Harry, hands gripping his shoulders just on the side of firm to help bring Harry back down to Earth. The other three boys were crowded in close, Louis lacing an arm around Harry’s waist and tugging the younger into his side, murmuring something that Harry couldn’t quite make out as he focused on breathing and collecting himself enough to talk.

A minute or two of his minor anxiety attack lasting before he rasped in a long breath and hid his face in Louis’ shoulder, mumbling out a quiet apology that the boys immediately shut down.

“S’okay to be nervous, Harry,” Liam told him with a kind smile, eyebrows raised as he planted a soft hand atop Zayn’s on Harry’s left shoulder, the darker skinned boy having had to let go of the other so Harry could fold perfectly into Louis’ side. “We’re all feeling it, don’t worry.”

Harry shook his head and apologised again, Louis just tugging him tighter into his side and the other three boys enveloping them in a group embrace.

Almost five entire hours of time where they could do whatever the hell they wanted stretched out before them and Harry, barely back in the present as his boys broke away from the embrace, still sticking close nonetheless (Louis didn’t extract himself from Harry’s side), kind of wanted to take his conscience’s quiet advice to spend most of the free hours practicing their song, but he could feel a weird swirling in his gut that told him his anxiety was close to rising again and snatching him away from reality and knew he needed a break from all of the competition and cameras – even if it was just for a little while. Judging by the way Zayn and Niall were all jittery and twitchy and Liam was eyeing the pebbled pathway down to the ocean, he wasn’t the only one.

It would just be a little break. Perhaps three hours, maximum. Just to clear their heads of all the bullshit television warranted from possible future celebrities.

He wanted nothing more than some fun, relaxing time with his bandmates like they had possessed at his family’s bungalow – a few more hours of quiet and happiness and stupid laughing and jokes before they were shuffled into styling and forced to don their television-perfected personalities once more.

\--

They were in sunny, perfection-splattered Spain, the damn _mansion_ they were living in for the next three days backing up on to one of the pristine Marbella beaches, and Louis wasn’t letting _anything_ get between him and his fellow bandmates throwing themselves headfirst into the crashing waves during the five hour break between camera shoots. There was no chance in hell that he’d let such an inviting possibility pass him by. The crashing waves, the soft and warm sand on his skin… _Christ,_ it was such an attractive thought that Louis almost _moaned_ like a fucking porn star.

The boys sprinted out the huge arched back doors of the mansion, Louis accidentally tripping over two guys sitting on the five-stair-staircase who he was pretty sure were the two members of _Diva Fever_ but couldn’t be entirely sure. They shouted after him, “Watch your step, newbie! Fuckin’ hell.”

He’d apologise later.

Definitely. Maybe.

Probably Not.

At that moment, he was too busy bringing up the rear with Zayn as Harry and Niall raced down the pebbled footpath to the ocean, Liam hot on their heels, all three boys crying out with glee, Liam the only one with a shirt still on. Louis and Zayn were taking their time, just walking down the path instead when Zayn commented, amused, “Christ, I’ve never seen Liam so _alive.”_

Louis snorted, slinging an arm around Zayn’s bony shoulders and drawing him close. “ _You’ve_ obviously never seen him masturbating. Hot _damn,_ he’s a _machine._ Imagine what he’d be like in actual sex. Fuckin’ animalistic, I tell you.”

Zayn joined Louis on those familiar childish giggles as they rounded the corner of the precisely trimmed hedges and they were met by an endless sea of blue water, stretching as far as they can see, the distinctive smell of salt tainting the air. Louis took a sharp inhale before exhaling with a devilish grin on his face and turning to face Zayn, who had a raised eyebrow in his direction and a smirk complimenting Louis’ own expression.

Waves crashed against the shore, _white_ sand untouched besides the five boys, Harry and Niall splashing around and ducking underneath the waves like little children while Liam watched from the beach, all laid out across the sand like a _model,_ toned body on display, shirt discarded on the beach next to him (Louis would not, would absolutely _not_ admit – except when he wanted to make his friend flush hot red with embarrassment – that Liam was _unnaturally hot,_ abs all out and hair damp from the spray of the water). Louis pretended not to notice Zayn’s eyes lingering on Liam, the elder of the two preferring to strip his shirt over his head with a grin and balling it in his fist, tan skin on display and already hot from the sun’s glare. Zayn copied his movement, slim build elegant in the blinding sunlight, darker skin creating sharp angles with shadows to compliment.

“Let’s stop stalling and join our stupid bandmates,” Louis said, already beginning to jog down to the water, Zayn on his tail.

Louis leapt into the crashing waves just as Harry emerged, curls soaked and wild as he shook out his head with an adorable grin on his face as he dove for Louis, Louis yelping as he was pushed under the salty water so Harry could clamber on to his shoulders. Louis pushed upwards again, Harry perched on his shoulders and giggling like a child as he bent and clasped his arms around Louis’ neck to stabilise himself. Niall squawked somewhere nearby and Zayn cackled like some villain from a Disney cartoon, the sound fading to the background as Harry ran a hand through Louis’ soaked hair, fingernails scratching his scalp gently.

“You’re a comfy resting post,” Harry giggled, shaking out his curls again and spraying them both with sea water.

And Louis took one step in the shallow water to make sure he was stable, and agony shot through his foot like a damn block of dynamite.

\--

 _Three, two, one._ And they were rolling.

“So boys, you seem to be missing a fifth,” the interviewer began (although they had been told that the questions asked would be edited out and only the boys talking would remain). “What happened for that to occur?”

Zayn nudged Harry in the ribs, effectively startling him into full-consciousness. He shot his friend a wide-eyed look and Zayn tilted his head, as if to say _this one’s yours._

Harry inhaled sharply to centre himself before he began to talk. “We were like, swimming in the ocean a bit earlier, and Louis - - Louis stood on a sea urchin and got stung,” he explained softly, voice breaking on each fifth syllable, trying to keep his eyes focused on the greedy eyes of the interviewer just to the left of the dark camera lens. He was trying to avoid thinking of Louis’ pale and drawn face as he was shoved away into the ambulance, eyes swimming with pain as he refused to look at his bandmates, refused to acknowledge them at all. “It was all swollen and bad and, like. Yeah. He had to go to hospital.”

He felt the little urge in the back of his brain to _talk more,_ to _inform more,_ but he couldn’t think past the loop in his head of _fuck is he okay fuck is he okay it looked like it hurt so badly it looks like it hurt so badly._ He nudged Niall weakly, biting his lip and fighting the urge to hide his face in the bleach blonde’s neck, Niall nudging him just enough to let him know that he got the message as Niall picked up from where Harry finished.

“We’re trying not to show too much, but we’re panicking a bit because we don’t know when or if he’s going to get here in time for the performance,” the blonde explained in his heavily accented voice, speaking a little faster than normal thanks to his nerves. “We don’t even know _if_ we’re performing, to be completely honest.”

Liam heaved a weighted sigh, eyes flickering anxiously between the camera and the interviewer, looking completely drained and sad. “It’s bad because we haven’t had much time to practice, when we needed more. We like, just got put together. We need him – he’s so important to us and the band’s success, and not just for his voice.”

The camera rolls for _one, two, three_ more seconds before the camera was flicked off and the five boys collectively exhaled in relief. The cameraman offered a reassuring thumbs up before bundling up his gear, grabbing the clip-on microphones from each boy and moving over to film another short interview with _F.Y.D,_ who were mingling with _Belle Amie_ poolside, the girls looking fairly unimpressed (which made a brief flicker of amusement rise up in Harry before it was stomped out by anxiety).

Harry didn’t even fully know what he was doing before he had crawled into Niall’s lap and pressed his face into the blonde’s throat, arms around Niall’s neck, breathing hotly and unsteadily.

“You’re a literal koala,” Niall teased, but he wrapped his arms around Harry and tugged him closer anyway, Liam and Zayn moving in on both sides. Zayn laid a careful hand on Harry’s shoulder and Liam laced his ridiculously muscled arms around Niall and Harry until they were all linked somehow – a chain of reassurance, of love.

It didn’t change how Harry felt – lost.

\--

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and Louis was _still_ perched on a hospital bed, just out of the ER, foot elevated on a stack of pillows with a heart monitor beeping insistently on his left beside the bed.

_Two o’clock. Two-thirty. Three o’clock. Three-forty-five. Twenty past four._

His heart was pounding against his ribcage with nerves because _Jesus,_ the pain in his foot felt like it was burning his flesh from the inside out and he could feel his eyes watering a bit. He found himself singing under his breath to distract himself, just little parts of their song so he didn’t absolutely, entirely lose his mind while he was waiting for his medical verdict or because his self-disappointment scale measurement was skyrocketing in his heart and in his head.

He wanted to be back at the damn mansion and rehearsing with his boys. Not on his own. It royally fucking _sucked_ on his own.

But in the back of his mind, there was a tiny, _tiny,_ almost insignificant puzzle piece of his conscience that was glad he was in the damn hospital bed instead, so that he didn’t cause the downfall of the band at one of the most important stages of the competition. Being in excruciating pain while simultaneously succumbing to boredom gave him a lot of time to use reflection as a distraction – which, sure, could lead to some unhealthy thoughts, but that didn’t really matter if Louis was willing to do anything to forget the pain in his foot that was slowly sinking into the rest of his leg (which, yeah, he was willing to do). He’d thought back to the bungalow when they’d sang together, even at bootcamp when they’d just messed around with different tunes as a bonding mechanism, and he’d rendered his own voice completely irrelevant compared to his bandmates (which, in reality, was completely wrong, but he didn’t think that in any case whatsoever). He could hardly process how beautifully his bandmates’ voices flowed, how excessively talented they all were, and it had well and truly knocked Louis’ confidence in his own voice because he was just _Louis._

 _Just Louis William Tomlinson, a lucky kid from Doncaster,_ he’d thought, snorting drily to himself before he’d been drugged into unconsciousness by the anaesthetics that had been injected into his system.

To him, at least. To him, he was a regular. Another boy in the crowd of wannabe celebrities.

And he _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was the one to fuck up their chances at making it.

But. Yeah. The rest of him wanted to be right up there, performing with his four favourite boys in the world, putting out his entire heart and soul for every damn viewer to see.

It was almost four-forty-five before a stressed looking doctor hurried into the hospital room, her lips stretched into a kind but tired smile directed at Louis before shuffling over to his elevated and bandaged foot to assess the damage. Louis hissed in pain at the initial movement, the painkillers having steadily begun to wear off, but the doctor paid no mind, her eyes trained on her work.

“Okay, so, I have both good and bad news,” the doctor started, and Louis read her name on her nametag as _Beth._

“Hit me.”

“The good news is that the swelling has gone down enough for you to walk,” Beth began, wrapping her thumb and forefinger around where the swelling had been and squeezing. Louis gritted his teeth against a pained scream, clenching his hands so tight his nails dug into his palms. “But the bad news is that the toxics we were unable to extract are still circulating your system, which will cause sick feelings, possible throwing up and increased levels of pain. You’ll have to take these antibiotics and this pain medication,” she paused to reach into her coat and extracted the listed materials, planting the packaging into Louis’ outstretched palm. “And the consumption instructions are on the boxes.”

She paused, considerate, before finishing her little spiel. “Take care, Louis. You’re free to go. There’s a set of crutches beside your bed for you to use if the pain is too severe to walk properly without taking the medication.”

She hastily unhooked him from the drip beside his bed and helped him stand before she showed herself out of the room, leaving Louis to his own devices. _Great customer service,_ he thought sourly to himself, hissing in pain as he knocked his bandage foot against the side of the bed on accident. He stood up on the leg that wasn’t in excruciating pain and stumbled over to the crutches, cursing as he struggled to get them under himself correctly.

It took a few attempts, but he managed to crutch himself over and through the door to his hospital wing and to the huge glass doors at the front of the building, assuming that the doctor – _Beth,_ he reminded himself – had submitted his discharge form. He paused right inside the entrance to sit down on one of the horribly uncomfortable wooden benches, crutches slung over his lap as he eyeballed them in disgust. _Fuck,_ he _hated_ them.

He just wanted to be back with his boys, the ones who always consoled him even when he was the oldest and supposed to be the big brother. The boys who he cuddled with every day at some point or another.

The boys he loved the most, even after it had only been two months since they’d first met.

He needed to tell them he was okay.

So it absolutely, entirely sucked _ass_ when it was another twenty minutes or so before a _Modest! Management_ staff member – his nametag read _Jonas,_ a bland name that made Louis want to roll his eyes at and tease the man for _–_ accompanied by a nameless _X-Factor_ producer rocked up to the hospital in a conspicuous black _Audi_ with plush leather seats and fancy booming speakers to collect him, and time continued to tick by almost impossibly fast as they were stuck in the late evening return-from-work traffic.

He stared out the fogged window, _tap tap tapping_ his fingers on the glass as he felt his chances of seeing the boys before their performance slowly drained away.

\--

The soft crunch and skittering of lose pebbles along the pathway announced Louis’ arrival, and Harry wasn’t even capable of thinking anything when he launched himself into Louis’ arms, face in Louis’ neck and arms laced so tight around his friend’s waist that he was surprised Louis could still _breathe,_ but he couldn’t loosen his grip even if he tried to. He pressed in even closer, their bodies moulding together as Harry inhaled the sharp scent of sea salt and sweat and Harry’s coconut and honey hair conditioner that the boys all collectively stole from back at the bungalow.

Harry wasn’t even thinking about the cameras as he felt Zayn and Niall join in and Liam launch in from behind, wrapping them all up. They were all laughing, Harry might have been crying (but nobody needed to know that, really, except for Louis, who could definitely feel Harry’s cold tears against his skin but mercifully didn’t say anything).

“Woah, Christ, s’nice to see you all, too,” Louis rasped, voice muffled by someone’s shirt (Harry thought it was Niall’s, but he couldn’t be entirely sure). “Shall we rehearse, then? Considering ‘m here now.”

Harry insisted they carry Louis to keep the pressure off his foot, much to Louis’ dismay ( _“Seriously, Hazza, I took some meds in the car, I can barely feel the pain now, promise.”)_ but he’d ultimately allowed them to carry him, Niall taking the crutches while Zayn, Harry and Liam supported Louis, the four of them a mess of limbs and tangled hair as they stumbled to the nearest collection of benches in the luscious gardens.

Harry could tell that Louis was a little woozy, not entirely out from his head thanks to the heavy medication he’d undoubtedly been prescribed, but he was still concentrating enough to allow his eyes to flicker between each of the four other boys. He yelped in surprise as Harry dragged him across the curly-headed lad and Zayn’s laps, Zayn chuckling as Louis’ knees curled in his lap and Louis pressed his back to Harry’s chest, giggling to himself like a child. Niall had leaned the crutches against the side of the bench for later use and Liam was sitting on the grass, bolt upright, like he’d been smacked on the arse, watching Louis with protective eyes.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Louis said, voice a little slurred from the meds, grinning. “We’ve got a single chance to blow Simon’s knickers off, so let’s not fuck it up.”

“Are you sure you’re, y’know, here enough to practice?” Zayn asked quietly, stroking a gentle hand up and down Louis’ side that was nearest to him. “No offense babes, but you look pretty drugged up. To be honest, I don’t think you should over-exert yourself before we go on.”

Louis waved a dismissive hand, movements a little sluggish as he responded, “Zayno, I’ll be fine. Promise. I’m not _that_ drugged up. It’ll wear off soon.”

And well, they couldn’t much argue with that, so Liam cleared his throat and counted them in.

They sang without the music as backing track and vocals, Liam starting off stronger than he’d ever done when they’d practiced together at the bungalow. His voice was thick and powerful, barely any hint of that inexperienced youthfulness that Harry could never _quite_ get out of his voice, and Harry’s heart began to thud against his ribcage in apprehension. Louis was completely lax and pliant in his lap, arms folded over his chest and pressing in close, watching Liam closely and smiling in an encouraging manner, nodding along to the beat of the song.

Harry sang steadily through his solo almost flawlessly, emotion heavy in his voice and making Louis shudder in his lap, goosebumps rising along the older boy’s skin (which made a spark of arousal start in Harry’s abdomen and his cheeks flush red but, y’know, Harry would never admit that) and then - -

And then the song was split open like an explosion of gas from a cannister, full of life and feeling and _uniqueness_. Louis’ voice was a bit shaky and less defined because of the medication, but it was so _beautiful,_ so _strong_ despite the slight weaknesses, so much so that it was a damn platform for Harry to vault himself off, forcing his voice louder, clearer, Zayn and Niall carrying the backup melody with more confidence, voices moulding together perfectly, Liam solid as ever and just _completing_ the sound – contrasting the high of Louis’ voice with his own depth.

Harry didn’t need to see Louis’ face front on to know that his eyes were watering with unshed tears as they finished, all of them grinning (and Louis wiping at his eyes fiercely because, yeah, he didn’t need them to see him cry _just_ yet. One day, for sure, but not then).

“That was…” Zayn started, voice breaking as he tried to search for the best fitting word.

“Incredible,” Louis finished for him, breathless and catching his breath. “Absolutely incredible, guys. Christ, I think - - “

“I think we crushed it,” Harry interrupted, grinning from ear to ear. “I think we could win with that.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Liam scolded, but he was laughing along with the rest of them because _holy shit,_ they did fucking _crush it._

And that was a flicker of hope deep in Harry’s chest.

\--

 _F.Y.D_ was performing before them and despite it being incredibly, incredible rude and unprecedented (but it was precedented, Harry was just too polite to say it aloud), Harry couldn’t help but pray that they could do better than… Whatever _that_ was. Sure, they were decent singers, but the song they were performing just didn’t _fit_ them and their vocals. Their voices were good but unconfident and unpractised, full of potential but hollow and unable to capture the emotions in their song. They were decent enough guys, sure, but…

There was just something _missing_ in their performance. Harry said as much to Louis and Louis – who was able to stand on his own at this point, pain medication fully kicked in – made a contemplative noise before murmuring his agreeance.

“They’re missing the spark of individuality,” Louis snickered in a horrible posh British accent and Harry snorted, slapping a hand over his mouth and nose to muffle the sound, earning a confused look from both Niall and Liam while Zayn just rolled his eyes.

 _F.Y.D_ finished their performance and Louis turned away, yanking Harry and Zayn into a huddle, trusting them to pull Liam and Niall in, too, which they did. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears, adrenaline pulsing in his veins to the point where he swore he was going to explode with it. He could feel the beating of Harry’s heart in his wrist pulse point where Louis was grabbing and he gulped, sort of just spitting out the first words that came to mind that were positive.

“We can beat that,” he whispered, a soft promise and he paused to clear his throat, grinning wildly, completely like an idiot. “We sound _amazing,_ hot damn, _and_ we’re more attractive.”

His four bandmates laughed, Harry, Niall and Liam sounding fragile while Zayn radiated the same reassurances as Louis was, the darker skinned boy shifting his grip so both his hands were clasping the backs of Liam and Niall’s shirts on either side. Louis wiped at his eyes again, like he could telepathically transfer his confidence to each of them if he didn’t show any cracks in his shield. Harry tugged him closer and they all leaned forward, pressing their heads together and exhaling as one.

“One Direction,” Louis breathed out. “To _One Direction.”_

“To _One Direction!”_ They all echoed.

They turned back just in time to witness _F.Y.D_ bow and exit, calling out thanks to Simon and Sinitta, before shooting the boys evaluating and judgemental looks as they strode past, one of the guys pausing to fist bump with Zayn and murmuring a soft _good luck._ Louis shot their friend an incredulous look which made Harry snort into his palm in amusement, Zayn just rolling his eyes and shoving Louis forward, making the eldest band member stumble over his own feet – he was loaded up on painkillers, so the movement didn’t hurt much, thankfully – with a soft squawk of indignation.

Liam led the way as they walked out on to the exposed patio, the compact space surrounded by arrays of camera and production crews, examined closely by stiff looking men and women in dark navy and black suits, hair styled to near perfection. Harry watched them with wide eyes, tracking each rigid movement and murmured conversation with his emerald green eyes, lights designed to hit their bodies at the best angles, blinding the five boys on the patio from all sides and microphones shoved unceremoniously into their faces.

And then somebody shouted out _action!_ And all the cameras whirred to life.

Simon and Sinitta watched them closely, Sinitta offering a slightly veiled thumbs up and smile in their direction before her hand dropped back down to her side, clenched tightly into a fist.

Harry glanced momentarily over his shoulder at Louis, who was standing stiffly between Zayn and Liam, eyes trained on his microphone with an inscrutable expression – like he was theorising something but couldn’t quite identify what it was. His thumb was running over the microphone switch, before he flicked it off and tapped the top of the microphone, no noise being produced.

_What?_

Just as Harry opened his mouth to say something to his friend, Louis flicked the switch back up to turn the device on and - - _Oh._

The microphone wasn’t connected. To _anything._

_What the fuck?_

Harry knew his expression was mirroring Louis’, a mixture of confusion and anger, but Louis’ eyes flicked up as Simon said something before one of them could speak up and Harry faced the front again, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously. He felt absolutely stunned as he watched Louis force a grin on to his face and answer whatever Simon had asked. “Yeah. Stray sea urchin in the shallows. Stood directly on it, unfortunately.”

Harry tried to push the guilt away, because yeah, Louis had needed to move to balance himself in the crashing waves because Harry had slung himself over Louis’ shoulders and unbalanced him.

“Painful?” Sinitta cut in, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Stupidly painful. Hated every moment of it.”

“But you’re okay now? Well enough to perform without throwing up on the patio?”

Louis snorted half-heartedly, before responding with a soft _yeah_ , followed by a hasty and somewhat slurred _the painkillers helped_ as though he hadn’t been rendered useless because of some faulty wireless connection.

What alarmed Harry was that Louis wasn’t going to _say anything about it._

Simon nodded for them to begin, not even giving Harry a moment to open his mouth and point out the failed electrical system that was supposed to connect Louis’ microphone to the speakers caging them in from all angles, yet fair enough back that they didn’t come directly into the cameras’ views. Simon’s features schooled into practiced blandness, like he couldn’t care less that his best group act (if Harry did say so himself) were shitting themselves – metaphorically – and basically missing a limb right in front of his eyes. He probably didn’t care, in all honesty. He just cared for the profit he’d rake in from their success.

It was pretty good, Harry decided internally, especially after they’d listened in on some of their fellow group acts’ performances, but it was still slightly _off._ They were singing on key, emotion heavy in their voices, and they weren’t dancing like absolute idiots, but it didn’t matter. Harry could see out of the corner of his eye that Liam noticed the change, too, and Zayn probably did as well if the tensing of his shoulders were anything to go by. Harry found his eyes widening in fear and dread as they headed into the chorus without delay but with an internal war raging.

Louis was singing, he definitely was, his lips moving against the microphone, but Harry was one-hundred-percent certain that there was no point behind it, that nobody could hear him no matter what he did, especially thanks to the four other amplified voices and the booming of the instruments from the speakers situated just behind the lines of cameras.

Harry ran out the last of the chorus and broke into his second solo, anxiety swimming in his head, in his heart, in every single inch of his body because _damnit,_ Harry watched as Louis sang, but no one could hear.

\--

Harry hadn’t really been thinking about it until after their performance, too high on nerves and adrenaline leading up to that frightful moment on the patio to really consider anything else, but he was so incredibly thankful that the judges didn’t give feedback during the early stage they were currently at. All he had needed as validation was Sinitta’s curious eyes and Simon not seeming outright disgusted and he’d been alright enough to dizzily follow the other boys around the corner and back through the huge arched doors to the mansion.

There was a heavy silence between them all before Liam, ever brave Liam Payne, broke it, eyes flickering down to his scuffed shoes. “It didn’t, y’know, sound right. Not really. Or am I the only one who picked up on that?”

“You’re not the only one,” Harry murmured and Zayn and Niall agreed, Zayn tacking on in a soft, weak voice, “It sounded so much stronger when it was just, like, acapella.”

Louis stayed silent, looking at the ground, before he gritted out a dismissive, “Well, we can’t change it now. We just have to hope for the best. Let’s grab some dinner, yeah?” And ran a nervous hand through his hair before he started moving towards the second huge archway that led to the community kitchen area.

There was some pasta left for them in the kitchen, the rest of their fellow group acts scattered across the Marbella property, sun setting over the horizon, a burning, unrelenting ball of flame and light that descended upon the Earth. The boys grabbed their fill, Louis on his crutches again, the ache in his foot beginning to return and as Liam, Niall and Zayn made their way outside to the poolside for some relaxation and to save five seats so they could all sit and talk out in the night, Harry gripped Louis’ upper arm to hold him back, careful not to unbalance him.

Louis didn’t meet Harry’s eye. Harry didn’t force him to, just murmured, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It took a moment for Louis to respond, but when, he did, Harry’s heart fractured in his chest.

“I figured maybe it was like, I don’t know, an omen, or something,” Louis admitted, all quiet and trembly and _shit,_ Harry had _never_ heard him sound like that. “Like something was telling me that my voice wasn’t needed. I already have no confidence in it, yeah, so I just - - just accepted it.” He laughed drily, still not looking at Harry, but Harry could sense the elder of the two’s eyes watering a little.

“Christ, Lou, we _needed_ you out there,” Harry murmured desperately, cracking his knuckles and gulping forcefully. “You should’ve said something. _You should’ve said something.”_ His voice was breaking and his heart was hurting as he tugged Louis into a fierce embrace, a little awkwardly positioned what with Louis’ crutches and both of them holding their own bowls of pasta, but he couldn’t even care less, folding into Louis like he always did, face pressed into Louis’ neck as he mumbled again, “We _needed you._ We _need you_.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis got out, voice muffled and breaking.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to, as they held each other there, frozen in the moment.

\--

_(3 rd of September)_

The next day was weird, completely unique in the sense that Harry couldn’t remember a day like it before in his life. Tense, weird and unfamiliar. Simon and Sinitta’s final decision wouldn’t be announced until mid-afternoon, so the contestants from every act had to go through an entire tension-filled morning, set to explode like a live-wire, without accidentally-on-purpose murdering someone and screaming for answers.

Harry rolled over in his bunk and glanced up and to his left, noticing that Liam had already disappeared, his top bunk on the opposite side of the room deserted. Despite it still being horribly early in the morning (Harry checked the nearest clock and read the time as six-fifty-three), Liam was probably off on a stress-releasing run down the multitude of pathways surrounding the mansion ( _“It’s like a labyrinth!” Niall had exclaimed only the previous night, the realisation hitting him like a freight train, much to the others’ amusements)._ Liam also could’ve also been out for a swim in the ocean or working out in the mansion’s fully-equipped gymnasium, but it didn’t matter because Harry knew that his fellow bandmate would most likely end up doing all three in an attempt to be distracted from the anxieties the day would undoubtedly provoke.

Each bunk and Niall’s single underneath the huge window had two pillows, and Harry had to use a hand to muffle his snort as he took notice of how Zayn, in the bottom bunk across from him, was utilising both. The darker skinned boy was simply in boxers, blankets all tangled up in his legs, cheek resting on the first pillow and the second on the top of his head. Harry could hear Louis snoring above him, completely dead to the world and Harry shook his head with an affectionate smile before he swung his legs out from the bunk and connected with something on the floor.

 _“Ow,_ fuck mate, _watch it!”_ Niall hissed and Harry leaned forward to peer over the bunk, only just noticing the blonde sprawled out across the floor, phone held up in front of his face, biting his bottom lip anxiously.

“S’up, Ni?” Harry asked softly, ignoring his friend’s prior scolding as he slid down on to the floor next to the blonde, landed cross-legged and dragging his blanket down with him to cover his body (because, really, did anybody expect him to sleep in a form _other_ than naked?) as he picked at his nails – a nervous habit.

“’M tryna figure out why we sounded so _off_ last night in the performance,” Niall got out through gritted teeth, frowning as he clicked off his phone and sat up with an over-exaggerated sigh, throwing the device up on to Harry’s bunk before allowing his gaze to flicker to the curly-headed boy. “I think I have an idea but I wanna know what you think.”

Harry inhaled, before:

“I think that - - “

“Louis’ mic was turned off,” Niall interrupted, seeming to read Harry’s thoughts. The blonde’s brows were furrowed in confusion and even possibly anger, but Harry couldn’t really tell. “Christ, I _knew_ it. I couldn’t even _hear_ him. Did he turn it off? Do you know?”

“No,” Harry breathed, voice shaky. “No, I mean - - I know what happened, I think. He didn’t turn it off. It was like, disconnected from every system, so it wasn’t working. I saw him turning it on and off to see if it would work but it didn’t.”

“And he didn’t say anything?” Niall urged.

“No, he didn’t.”

“ _Damnit,”_ Niall hissed. “Damnit, why didn’t he say anything? We can’t even change anything now, _fuck._ We _needed_ him.”

“I - - I told him that, in the kitchen. He didn’t think so,” Harry whispered, letting his gaze fall to his lap, covered by the blanket, concealing… _Everything._ “He said he thought it was an omen saying that he wasn’t required. Needed. It’s bullshit.”

“Damn right it is!” Niall snapped, a little too loudly if the pillow that was hurled at them from Zayn’s bunk was any indicator.

“Can you two _shut up?”_ The darker skinned boy groaned into the remaining pillow on his bunk, having rolled over so he could crush his face into it. “I won’t be able to get a _wink_ of sleep if you don’t stop exchanging conspiracy theories, or whatever. Not everyone is like Louis and can sleep through a stampede.”

“It’s not a _theory_ if it’s fact,” Niall protested, having grabbed the pillow Zayn had hurled at them and tossing it back at the boy’s bunk, hitting Zayn in the middle of his back and making the boy curse violently into his pillow before tacking on, “Just - - just go to another room if you’re gonna keep talking. My head is _pounding.”_

“Maybe don’t get so drunk and you wouldn’t be so hungover you can’t _think_ properly,” Harry responded cheekily, but he reached under his bunk and fished around in his open suitcase for a pair of boxers to slip on. Niall was already clambering to his feet, so Harry tossed the blanket up on to his bunk, leaving himself exposed as he slipped the boxers on, ignoring Niall’s spluttered out, “ _Harold,_ why do ya always have to be butt-naked?”

“Because it’s _comfortable,”_ but he’d already slipped the boxers on (a pair of dull black Calvin Klein’s that were too big on him and lose at the hips) and was following Niall out the door of the bedroom and to the main space of the huge flat the five boys shared in the mansion, an obnoxiously large television hanging on the wall in the living space that connected to the kitchen area, which Harry naturally gravitated towards, much to Niall’s amusement.

“Jesus, can’t even stop being Snow White for more than a minute, can ya?” Niall teased and Harry flipped him off despite knowing Niall wouldn’t see it, hearing the blonde Irish lad fall on to the unnaturally plush sofa with a heaved sigh.

“Well, let me put it this way: do you want breakfast, or not?” Harry called out behind him with raised brows as he moved through the kitchen, opening the pantry and making a pleased humming noise as he laid eyes on the ridiculous amounts of food and cooking supplies before his eyes. Sure, they could’ve ordered room service, but Harry argued that he wanted to keep up his cooking skills and, not that they’d ever admit it (except for Louis, who always complimented it), but the boys definitely preferred Harry’s cooking compared to ordered food.

“Shut up. Ya can be Snow White if I can get delicious food from ya which, y’know, I always do.”

“Is that admittance? Finally? After three months, you finally admit that you prefer my cooking to anybody else’s?”

“Shut up, Styles. I’m never gonna explicitly give you admittance.”

“I should ration your breakfasts from now on.”

“ _No,_ you should definitely not. A hungry Irishman is a bad Irishman who makes risky decisions.”

“You do that anyway!” And they were both laughing like idiots, Niall sprawled across the sofa, television blaring out some show that Harry didn’t recognise while Harry himself was keeled over, holding on to the kitchen counter so he didn’t collapse with the force of his laughter. The previous dramas of the morning were forgotten in that instant, Niall still laughing as Harry recovered, catching his breath enough to focus on what he was grabbing from the pantry – ingredients for pancakes, it seemed – and planting everything on the kitchen counter as he fished out a frypan and sat it on the stove, flicking it on and letting it heat up.

Half an hour later and Harry and Niall were sprawled across the lounge together, plates of pancakes on the little dark oak coffee table situated in the middle of the living space, another larger plate stacked with pancakes in the middle – food for once the other two woke up and when (if) Liam returned to the mansion before it was time to receive their results.

 _“Oh,”_ Niall moaned around a mouthful of jam-covered pancakes, making Harry snort and almost inhale his tea. “ _Oh,_ fuck _me,_ this is _so good.”_

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Harry teased, placing his tea back down on the coffee table and glancing up at the television just as a noise of surprise came from behind them.

“Woah, cookin’ up a feast while me and Zaynie slept, were you?”

“Morning to you too, Lou,” Harry giggled, gesturing over the back of his head with a palm. “Join us. There’s a whole stack for you to grab stuff from. Jam, cream and chocolate are on the bench.”

“Jesus, Hazza, you’re incredible,” Louis said through a yawn, already sounding like he was moving towards the kitchen as Harry’s hand dropped to the remote in Niall’s lap and snatching it, flicking through the settings until he found _Netflix._ Niall made an indignant noise around another mouth full of pancake, but he had his eyes fixed on the television as Harry flicked through shows, pausing on _Friends._

“Yes yes _yes,_ click it,” Louis cooed as he slammed himself down on to the sofa beside Harry, bouncing on the soft surface momentarily before curling into Harry’s side, plate with chocolate and butter and cream on it soon being completed with two pancakes he’d snatched from the middle of the table. Harry instinctively wrapped his arm around Louis’ shoulders, holding the remote in that hand and clicking the _play_ button on the show, starting at the first episode of season one.

“S’been ages since I’ve watched _Friends,”_ Louis admitted and Niall choked on his pancakes, making Harry giggle and tighten his grip around Louis’ shoulders.

“How long is _‘ages’?”_ Niall demanded, having taken a break from unceremoniously shoving pancakes into his mouth.

“I don’t know, maybe a year?”

“A _year?_ What the _fuck,_ Louis?!”

“What did you think I meant when I asked you lot to _shut up?”_ Zayn groaned from somewhere behind them, probably the doorway to the bunk beds. “Christ, I can’t get back to sleep now.” He moved around to the sofa and flopped down on top of Louis and Harry with little to no grace, head in Harry’s lap and lower back on Louis’ thighs, making Harry squawk in retaliation as Louis kicked out and kneed Zayn in the stomach.

Another half hour after they’d all gotten settled and Zayn had stolen some of Louis’ pancakes and Liam had re-joined them, exhausted and drained ( _“I went for a run,” he panted as he closed the flat door behind himself, hair all matted and biceps flexing in his tank top. “And now, I’m going for a shower, so don’t get up to anything too exciting without me.”),_ they’d been burst out of their little bubble of serenity. Of course they’d known it, but it didn’t change the disappointment at it being time for them to get back to the showbiz melodramatics of the _X-Factor._ An assistant accompanied by two _Modest!_ staff members came knocking on their flat door and Zayn, being the politest (besides Liam, but he was pretty much passed out from exhaustion on the floor), answering it while the other boys listened from the lounge, still binging _Friends._

“Hi there,” the assistant started brightly, her voice unnecessarily high-pitched and bubbly – like a too-enthusiastic child on their first day of preschool. The _Modest!_ staff were stony beside her, a lean woman in a navy suit and a slightly pudgier man in a black suit, expressions schooled so nothing was revealed as the assistant rambled on. “We have some _‘waiting on results’_ shots that have been planned for the contestants to be filmed doing at ten thirty – so in half an hour. Make sure to be fully-dressed and down in the lobby at ten-twenty so you have time to have makeup and hair fixes finished. Enjoy the rest of your morning!” And then the door closed and Zayn made his way back over to the sofa, looking borderline stunned.

And that was why, twenty minutes later, they were fully dressed and down in the mansion’s lobby, stylists having finished up the final touches of makeup and hair. The real star of their little group was Harry, clad in a soft white turtleneck that Louis couldn’t stop fussing over and stroking and adjusting, and each time it made Harry flush a pretty pink colour in his cheeks.

\--

Lunch was a subdued affair, the groups distancing themselves from each other like one of them had contracted a highly contagious disease. _One Direction_ had taken one of the corners on the floor, all cuddled together and making stupid jokes to try and get the tension to wear off. Louis was in Zayn’s lap and Harry was sprawled across the two of them, head in the cradle of Louis’ lap and legs crossed on the floor. Niall was laying across Harry and Liam was leaning against Zayn’s side, telling some story Louis had semi-tuned out of about how his pet turtle had lost a foot.

It was one-thirty-five in the afternoon when the first two groups were called to meet Simon – _The Reason_ and _F.Y.D,_ and the room fell into momentary silence as they watched the two collections of people trickle out of the room like a faulty tap releasing droplets of water.

That assistant from the first day, Trinity, had informed them only an hour or two prior that once a group act was called, they wouldn’t be returning to the main room. There was a bonfire on the beach at the end to send off those who didn’t make it and a congratulations party for the groups moving on to the next stage of the competition.

The top three group would be announced there, in front of everybody’s eyes – in front of everybody who knew they’d made it, and those who knew they hadn’t. 

“It has to be _F.Y.D_ over _The Reason,”_ Zayn murmured, voice shaky and nervous and breaking through the little trance Louis had fallen into as he had sank further into his own head, the rest of the room flaring back into hesitant conversation, everybody awfully eager to distract themselves from the nerves. Harry couldn’t help but agree with Zayn, even if he hated choosing things like that – _F.Y.D_ had some decent vocals and could dance alright enough to make up for where they were lacking in their singing abilities. _The Reason_ had just stood there, barely any movement whatsoever, and yet their vocals had been less average.

” _The Reason_ actually has some sexual appeal, though,” Louis offered, sounding contemplative. “Like, the show _wants_ attractive acts, right? I don’t know ‘bout you, but Simon seems the type to like burly men despite not being gay.” Harry spluttered and smacked his friend’s shoulder, making them all burst into soft laughter as Harry protested, “ _F.Y.D_ is somewhat attractive, too,” despite only having revealed some minutes ago that he had a gut feeling about _F.Y.D_ that made him feel uneasy.

“Yes they are, but as I said, _Simon_ probably likes - - “

“But _nothing,_ we don’t want to hear about Simon’s sexual desires, don’t be rude - - “

Louis pounced on Harry, giggling as they wrestled on the floor, Harry careful not to injure Louis’ foot further than it already was. He assumed his friend had taken the required medication, because he seemed fine enough as they continued to tussle, Harry laughing so hard he could barely breathe. He thought he could distantly hear the duos being called out next, but he couldn’t really concentrate as Louis tickled him mercilessly in his side, making him cry out and cackle like a child.

 _“Diva Fever_ were pretty awful,” Liam murmured, promptly ignoring the two playfighting boys, Louis having managed to pin Harry down – _again –_ and Harry half-heartedly struggling against his grip with a face-splitting grin adorning his features. “I haven’t seen _Twem,_ though. But duos are never that good, anyway, are they?”

“You’re right on that point,” Niall agreed, idly picking at his nails. “Duos are never _that_ brilliant. Twem was at my audition, too, and they prove that further ‘cus they barely scraped through.”

“Christ, sounds like they need more decent group acts,” Harry rasped, still struggling against Louis, pretending there _wasn’t_ an insistent warm buzz beneath his skin at his vulnerable position beneath his friend and how _strong_ Louis had gotten (despite Harry still being stronger. He just wasn’t trying hard enough to get himself up, but he definitely could if he wanted to which. Yeah. He didn’t want to).

 _Belle Amie_ were called out next, followed by _Husstle,_ the two girl groups leaving the room considerably quieter as they filtered out.

“ _Belle Amie_ is _insane_ when it comes to vocals,” Niall breathed, voice clearly communicating his awe. Zayn, empty of Louis in his lap, made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat before cuddling closer to Liam, shifting so his head was in the muscled boy’s lap as the Bradford boy’s eyelids fluttered closed, obviously still experiencing the lasting effects of his severe hangover from the night prior.

“They may be awesome singers, but they’re only average dancers,” Louis pointed out, collapsing on top of Harry and making Harry release an _oomph_ as he sat up, arms instinctively going around Louis’ waist so as not to dislodge him. Louis sighed and huddled closer, grinning as he continued, “ _Husstle_ is pretty much the opposite. They’re pretty average vocalists but have some ace moves.”

 _“’Ace moves’?”_ Niall quoted, chuckling as Louis tried to hit him without moving from Harry’s lap, missing horribly. “Didn’t realise you were American now, Lou.”

“And I didn’t realise you were such a jackass,” Louis shot back, the five of them descending back into nervous giggles, like hysterical students would do before a heavy exam block. 

It was just them and the other remaining guy group, _Princes and Rogues,_ and Harry prayed, _prayed_ that they’d done better because honestly, men in their late twenties dressed as nonchalant private school students wasn’t exactly an attractive image, to say the least.

Five, ten, _fifteen_ minutes later before their groups were called, _Princes and Rogues_ going in front of Simon’s judgemental and professional gaze before the five of them did. Harry was clinging to Louis’ side like a parasite, Niall pressed in close on his other side and Zayn and Liam huddled in close, too, all of them messing with their hair and clothes despite the stylists’ adamant scolding and murmuring gentle reassurances to each other. Claudia appeared shortly after, all soft smiles and gentle hands as she led them outside and back to the patio where they’d performed, where they’d failed, in Harry’s eyes, because it had only been four out of five performing and _that_ was a failure.

He’d accidentally let go of Louis sometime earlier and laced an arm around Niall’s waist to support himself as they came to an abrupt halt in from of Simon, who surveyed them like a king observing his loyal subjects.

“Do you understand why I did this in the first place?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms, the five boys murmuring their agreeance despite it being a mostly rhetorical question. “I think, once you got through to the bootcamp stage, there were weaknesses. Which is why we made the decision about all of you individually.”

It’s fine. They haven’t been told no yet. _It’s fine._

“To a point, you came in at a disadvantage, because you didn’t have the time the other groups had.”

A lie, but the viewers didn’t know that. Hell, Harry couldn’t even really focus on that little factor, trying to stop himself from hyperventilated so intensely he imploded right then and there in front of Simon and Sinitta and his friends.

They hadn’t been explicitly told no. It wasn’t a no. It _can’t_ have been a no. _It can’t have been._

“On the more positive note, when it worked, it worked. My head is saying it’s a risk, and my heart is saying that you deserve a shot, and that’s why it’s been difficult.”

Okay. Fine. If _Simon Cowell_ had _ever_ used his stony heart to make a business-centred choice, Harry would eat dog shit (okay, maybe not, but he didn’t have much running through his head at that point). But he was desperately clawing for a shred of hope in his head, screaming at himself _I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to go back_ and _it’s only been a few weeks and I need these boys to breathe, holy fucking shit, please don’t end this._

“So I’ve made a decision.” Louis not-so-inconspicuously reached over Niall to squeeze Harry’s shoulder, and, although he’d never openly admit it to anybody afterwards and the camera was probably seeing it all in his face, Louis’ hand was the only anchor keeping him from drifting into the deathly abyss in his head. “Guys… I’ve gone with my heart. You’re through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everybody enjoyed the first chapter! new ones will come weekly :)
> 
> CHAPTER NOTES!  
> \- there's a lot of debate on the internet as to whether or not larry met at battle of the bands, so I made the decision to go with what I believe (hope) happened.  
> \- I refuse to acknowledge the fact that the band's formation has a high chance of being staged and they all knew each other previously, so I kept it in only having larry and zouis meet prior to X-Factor.  
> \- Katelyn is NOT a real person, for anybody needing clarification. She is a figment of my imagination and I couldn't resist popping her into this fic. Harry's 'school best-friend' at the time was actually a boy named Jonny, but I don't know too much about him so I exchanged him with Katelyn instead (I may be a bit biased, but oh well). She has a very feministic plot-line going on in this and hey, who doesn't love a bit of feminism?  
> \- I don't know about you, but I firmly believe Louis' mic was off at Judges' Houses. He's so naturally loud that his voice could've bordered on overpowering if the microphone had been connected. 
> 
> That's all for this week! I didn't get Ady to proof-read this one so I'm sorry if there's any errors that my grammar-nazi would usually pick up on. Have a lovely morning/day/evening/night!


	2. 30th September 2010 - 1st October 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something… Off about Louis, though. Usually in the mornings he was more energetic, no matter if he slept or not. He’d be bouncing off the walls, shoving something on to Zayn’s head or playing with things he wasn’t supposed to. Not clinging to Harry like he was too tired to stand up on his own, too tired to keep his eyes open.
> 
> He tried to brush off that ugly feeling in his chest at the realisation, but he stopped thinking anything for a few seconds as Louis shifted closer and breathed hotly on the sensitive skin of Harry’s throat.
> 
> Thanks to Ady and Claire for betaing!!

_(30 th of September)_

It was probably awfully cliché, like something out of a badly produced movie about teenagers who’d made it to internationals for dancing, but Louis figured that nobody would ever be able to deny that there was something incredibly special, borderline magical, about the _X-Factor_ stage.

He didn’t think that it was the actual stage itself, in all of its scuffed and scarred ‘glory’, dusty and unkempt without all of the props and dancers and multi-colour lights that usually concealed the unfortunate state of the surface.

But… But. There was still _something else_ there that made it hypnotising. Beautiful. Like the echo of voices from past contestants, the judges giving their final verdicts on an unsuspecting victim’s fate, or the auras of success and newfound fame and rejection that made anybody lucky enough to stand on it all weak kneed and still feel on top of the damn _world._ A swirling storm of love and passion and terror all mixed into one powerful _thing_ that couldn’t be fended off by any sort of willpower owned by any sort of person.

It was contagious. And amazing.

Louis had never in a million years predicted that he’d end up on that very stage surrounded by his four favourite boys in the entire universe. They’d stood in front of Simon in Marbella on that damn patio in that stupid mansion, Simon’s speech heavy with dramatic pauses designed to make them express their desperation to the cameras, making them _fear_ for themselves, and Louis had been preparing himself to lose the band, the boys, the beauty of his possible future for forever.

But he hadn’t. They’d made it through, stupidity and all, and here they were. Louis and those four boys who had changed his life the moment he’d met each of them.

Those boys who he had been preparing himself to lose were, in fact, interrupting Louis’ self-reflection session with loud shrieks and laughter as they tackled each other across the stage like idiots. They’d been called from their beds in the _X-Factor House_ to sample outfits selected by their assigned stylists, so the wardrobe department could and _would_ prepare them suitable clothes for competitions and such, alongside some casual clothes for them to wear around the _House_ to make up for the stuff they’d left at home and hadn’t been able to bring _._

Oh. Right. Speaking of which, they’d _moved into the X-Factor House._

The move into the _X-Factor_ house had been stressful at first, but honestly, Louis hadn’t felt more alive.

After making a number of frantic phone calls to his mother (because he accidentally kept on hanging up the phone, hands too shaky to really hold it properly and unwilling to allow his mother to hear him swearing and shouting playfully at Niall to _get his bullshit together or Louis would personally throw him in a ditch)_ , he’d finally, _finally_ been able to inform his family of the announcement that the five of them were going to move in – _together –_ to the _X-Factor_ house.

Jay’s beaming smile had been able to be sensed through the phone, and Louis had felt his eyes beginning to water as he wiped them frantically, yelling at Niall to _shut up or else, you Irish dickwad,_ earning half-hearted parental scolding that he didn’t even really process. His sisters had started shouting in excitement in the background, Lottie’s distinctive _holy fucking shit_ earning another scolding from Jay that she didn’t really mean and it made Louis laugh just enough to keep him from crying.

He didn’t think it had really hit him yet, the fact that they were living in the damn _House_ that _celebrities_ on the show had once lived in. It hadn’t hit any of the others, save for Harry, who had had an absolute fucking _breakdown_ _once they’d finished moving into their separate room across from the two remaining unoccupied (the two other group acts were moving in later than the boys had due to undisclosed reasons)_. Harry had clasped on to Louis so desperately it was like he’d transformed into being a koala, tears streaming down his face as he _sobbed,_ completely _breaking_ apart at the seams. Louis had gone into overprotective mode on instinct, blood on _fire_ , telling the other boys to _fuck off_ and _do not_ dare _fucking touch Haz right now, okay?_ And Louis had pointedly ignored the boys exchanging knowing looks as he’d sat Harry and himself down on one of the bottom bunks, holding him close.

They’d stayed near, of course, unwilling to really leave Harry and Louis just with each other – not with Harry so vulnerable. Louis had asked him what was wrong, rubbing a soothing hand over Harry’s back, another carding gently through the soft curls as he clutched him close in his lap on the bed, Harry’s hands fisted in the back of Louis’ hoodie so tightly that his knuckles were white, head underneath Louis’ chin and cheek pressed to his chest. He was trembling and sobbing so violently that he could barely get any words out, anxiety and pure panic completely overwhelming the poor boy, making Louis heart _ache_ in his chest.

Harry had eventually been able to splutter out a soft, “I can’t do it, I can’t do it, we _made it,_ _we’re_ _literally here and_ I’m gonna mess it _up,”_ before he had descended straight back down that well of _panicpanicpanic._ Louis had held him close as he cried, rocking them back and forth on the bed, whispering soft and soothing words in Harry’s ear as Zayn and Liam settled on the end of the bed, Niall taking a trip to the kitchen and returning with armfuls of comfort food – chocolate and crisps and some cotton candy that had been in the pantry for a bit but was still fine. He tossed the packets of everything on to the bed next to them all, climbing into Liam’s lap and stretching across to Zayn’s, ready to jump into action at the slightest hint of Harry needing him – any of them.

They’d gotten through it, a comforting force for the youngest of the band. A _family._

That had been two nights ago. And things couldn’t have been better.

“Hey Hazza!” Niall shouted from across the stage, having broken away from Zayn and Liam’s tight grip. The curly-headed boy in question was perched on a wooden beam sticking out from the side of the wall for seemingly no reason whatsoever, picking at his nails with a soft grin as he watched his friends brawl on the scuffed surface of the stage. “Maybe, once the other two groups get here, you can lose that shitty virginity of yours!”

Louis cackled and covered his mouth with his palm, glancing up and seeing Harry’s face flush crimson, the younger biting his lip and turning away nervously. “Go away, Niall,” he called back, making the blonde double over with laughter and Louis turn a little pink.

“We should like, allocate a sex room,” Zayn suggested and Louis could basically _hear_ his smirk. “Maybe Louis and Harry could try it out first, to see if it works.”

“Zayn!” The two boys in question shrieked in response, Louis not daring to look at Harry for fear of the pink flush on his cheeks turning into darker. “Seriously man, hook-up partners in the same band _never work,”_ Louis protested, biting his bottom lip, Harry faintly echoing Louis’ point.

“So you’re not denying that you’d be open to the possibility?” Zayn had a raised eyebrow and Louis took off one of his shoes and pegged it at his friend’s head.

“What I’m not denying is that I’m experiencing the _very_ strong urge to throw your face against a tiled wall and smash your nose in.”

“Love you too, babes.”

Before they could continue their banter though, one of their personal assistants (Lila, Louis briefly recalled her name being) shouldered open one of the rear end doors, strawberry-blonde hair messy and paper barely clipped to the clipboard clasped to her chest. “Hey boys,” she greeted breathlessly, shooting them all soft smiles as Harry slid down from his wooden beam, almost landing on Louis, who yelped and batting his shoulder in retaliation. Zayn threw Louis’ shoe back at him and Louis nodded at him with a faint smirk as he slipped it back on, not bothering to fix the laces.

“Hi,” they all echoed back, Harry sneakily brushing his fingers over the little bit of exposed skin on Louis’ hip where his shirt had ridden up a tad, making Louis jerk at the cold touch and goose-bumps rise along the tanned surface.

“They’re ready for you. Follow me.”

Louis and Harry stayed side by side as they followed Liam – who was following the assistant – into a larger side room, which.

Well.

It looked like an explosion of glittery and fireworks combined had gone off, bejewelled clothing and accessories littered as far as the eye could see. A kind looking woman with shoulder-length and curled auburn hair accented by purple highlights rushed up to greet them and Louis found his attention immediately captured by her matching glittery purple eyeshadow as she introduced herself as Kaya, the fashion director on the show for the season.

“Okay, so,” she started, bright grin on her face, swiping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Lovely to meet you five. I believe you’re my last lot for the day, so don’t even worry about restricting yourselves if you have a moral compass focused on selflessness.”

She sniffed and pulled her head up a little more, assertive and in her element. “Stage one is pretty simple – choose stuff you’d like to wear. That’s all you need to do. Stage two – find me or my assistant, Charlie,” she gestured behind her to a brown-haired boy with painted nails ( _“Painted nails!” Harry would cry out later, stars in his eyes. “Oh my god, he had painted nails, Lou. I want my nails to get painted, holy shit!”)_ sitting at the desk in the back of the room who waved at them in a friendly manner. “And show us the stuff you chose. We’ll take it from there and get some outfits together combined of the type of things _you_ chose, the type of things _we_ believe would suit you and, unfortunately, the generic shit that the show supplies every year because they can’t stand uniqueness in television.” She broke off into a dry laugh, shaking her head before she spread her arms out and uttered one word.

“Explore.”

As the other boys moved away, Louis found himself frozen in place as Kaya smiled at him, moving forward and planting her hands on his shoulders. “And what can I do for you, good sir?”

He gulped nervously before looking away and murmuring, “I like your eyeshadow. A lot.”

He could sense her raised eyebrows in surprise as she said, “Well, would you like to look at some of the stuff we have? It’s with the nail polish. The curly-headed one is there now, I believe.” She paused to inhale sharply before continuing, and Louis glanced up to meet her kind eyes. “We generally only supply the stuff for the ladies, but Charlie and I can vouch for you, if you’d like.”

Louis found himself smiling at her as she dropped her hands and folded her arms across her chest. “I - - I’ll take a look,” he stuttered, feeling a flush on his cheeks. “I’ll let you know, like you said, if I’d, y’know, like some. Thank you.”

The afternoon passed by quickly, slithering away, the stylists kind and cheery (Louis found himself rather fond of both Kaya and Charlie, Kaya kind and flamboyant like himself and Charlie shy yet excitable, always willing to help and talk about makeup, much to Harry’s obvious glee, if his time with the boy at the nail polish area was any indicator. Louis thought he couldn’t have been older than sixteen). The atmosphere was full of enthusiasm and fun, contagious and leading to the stupidity that was expecting in the five teenage boys.

Louis and Zayn _both_ swooned as Liam emerged from one of the change rooms in his first outfit – a white tank top and grey sweats that showed off his prominent muscles ( _“Holy shit, look at that_ chest! _The biceps! Hold me Zaynie, I’m swooning,” Louis cried and Zayn cackled, still eyeing Liam’s biceps with a wide gaze),_ and Liam averted his eyes, cheeks aflame before Niall viciously tossed a metal cannister full of _something_ at Louis’ head to get him to close his mouth.

Harry had moved up to Louis’ side and fallen silent, watching Liam with his lips slightly parted, but Louis could hear the nervous gulp the green-eyed boy took as he walked away, rubbing a hand over his face and exhaling forcibly.

Louis found himself getting a taste of his own medicine for being dramatic over Liam as Harry emerged from trying on another one of his outfits, a soft, long-sleeved, silky white sheen shirt and black skinny jeans, making the eldest of the band freeze in his place across the room, mouth parted just a little bit as his eyes raked up and down Harry’s body, the curly-headed boy shifting his weight from foot to foot as Niall and Zayn wolf-whistled.

“Christ, Hazza,” Niall said with a grin, lounging across Liam and Zayn on the sofa in the room, Zayn carding his fingers through the blonde’s hair.

Harry flushed bright red, shaking out his curls nervously. “How do I look?” He asked quietly, eyes trained on Louis.

“Amazing,” Louis croaked out, feeling his cheeks flush as the other three boys echoed him before he turned away back to selecting his own clothes. “Amazing, Hazza.”

“Holy _Christ!”_ Charlie exclaimed from somewhere across the room and Louis could hear the boy fussing with the details on Harry’s outfit, whistling in satisfaction. “Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve seen someone look so good in silk and skinny jeans. Kaya! We _have_ to get clearance for him to wear this stuff. He might send the entire population into a meltdown over his attractiveness.”

“ _Relax,_ Charlie. I’m sure we could convince the big boss if we surrender into making him wear some boring stuff as well. Shame Simon has no respect for fashion.”

Louis couldn’t help but agree with both of them.

\--

At the end of the day, they’re each allocated one new outfit apiece and allowed around half an hour of free time (which Niall decided to take a nap during, and it took close to fifteen minutes of gentle coaxing from both Zayn and Harry before he had given in and officially woke up) before they were herded by a collection of assistants to a nearby van that dragged them to _the_ Fountain Studios.

Fountain fucking Studios. Louis couldn’t believe it.

Apparently, according to the rather incoherent text Louis had received from fellow contestant Aidan Grimshaw (the two of them having befriended each other during bootcamp), there was a welcome party in a few hours, but first, _One Direction_ had an important meeting to make with Simon Cowell himself.

The man’s office was in one of the more business-focused corners of the complex, _Modest!_ staff hurrying about their business, ranging from assistants to important managers (the last category admittedly sparking a hint of fear in Louis’ chest).

Simon’s office wasn’t something you’d expect to see in a work environment. It was akin to one of those rooms you’d see in modern-style houses, full of colours that shouldn’t have worked as well together as they did, an exuberant dark wooden desk with a glass surface in the left corner with five equally as dark leather chairs before it, plush and soft. There was a huge television on the wall opposite the desk playing snippets that Louis recognised from bootcamp and Judges’ Houses, an equally as huge window on the back wall which gave an elegant view of the city below the studio, bustling with life despite the dreary and rainy weather outside, cold and wet.

The boys each took a seat each and the door swung shut behind them, Simon watching them with a face absent of any emotion.

“Hello, boys,” he said by way of greeting and – although Louis would never admit it, the same as the four others – they remained intensely intimidated by the overlording man behind the desk, leading them to barely being able to utter their own greetings as they averted their gazes. Simon knew that, of course, how could he not have when it was so obvious on their faces? But he was kind – _kind_ probably not the best word, but Louis couldn’t think of another – enough to not point any of their nervous habits out as he said, rather threateningly, in Louis’ opinion, “We need to have a rather important discussion about some pressing matters that have been on my mind.”

Louis, who’d stupidly, _stupidly_ chosen that moment to take a drink of water, choked.

“So, to start us off simply – you’re boys,” Simon began over Louis’ spluttering and Harry rubbing his back to help him breathe again, “And I know that sounds blatantly obvious, but it is a very easy fact to forget in the madness of newfound success. It’s happened before. What is _also_ very easy is to get in over your heads when you forget your natural immaturity that comes with boyhood. So, you have to mature – or perhaps just _act_ older – a little faster than you might at home, or wherever it is you would be if you weren’t in this studio.”

Louis, trying to ignore the jab at their personalities, looked to Liam as the boy spoke.

“Does that mean that looking or acting older help us?” Liam asked, eyes wide with curiosity as he knocked his knees together anxiously.

“It definitely won’t hurt. People won’t gain a respect for you if you _do_ become famous and you act like little children or angsty teens. You’ll be looked down upon in the industry, and that’s the complete wrong foot to get started on. Besides, you’re already the youngest act remaining on this show and you’ll be compared to completely and utterly mature adults from the moment the Judges’ House episode airs on television. Sure, youth is brilliant to have in the music industry, but seeming inexperienced is a bad rep to have.”

“So,” Zayn started after a lengthy pause fell between the five boys and their mentor. “Will we, I don’t know, be _trained_ to be more mature?”

Simon offered a short nod. “In a way, yes. Not at this point, considering you haven’t necessarily made it yet, but once you gather a larger fanbase, you’ll be trained for the media. Taught how to phrase responses to certain questions, taught how to handle media headlines – even simple things such as posture and language use in interviewers. Nothing that hasn’t seen the light of day before.”

Harry inhaled sharply and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Louis reaching under the desk where Simon couldn’t see to take the curly-headed boy’s hand, shooting fire up Harry’s veins sharper than a knife. Niall had moved his chair a little closer to Liam’s and Liam was leaning closer to the blonde, gulping anxiously. Zayn seemed to be the only one unaffected by the revelations, relaxed and sprawled out in his chair but somehow still looking neat and elegant, head back and eyebrows raised as if to say ‘ _hit me. It won’t hurt’._ Louis admired his brazenness.

The man behind the desk picked up his steaming mug of tea and took a long sip that Harry was surprised didn’t cause Simon to burn his tongue. He set the mug down slowly, shooting them with a curious look over his glasses, eyes glimmering, before he continued. 

“I’m going to be completely honest – I do like you boys - - “ (Louis had to fight against snorting at the ridiculous sentence, knowing that to Simon they were little more than a business project), “And I respect each of you. You have a whole store of untouched talent beneath the surface and I firmly believe it could get you through the first few rounds of this competition fairly easily. The fact that you’re young and attractive also means that you’ll probably score a lot of the female votes, increasing your chances even further. I also believe that with the right coaching and training and getting to know each other’s vocals so well that it’s like having multiple consciences, you’ll have a recording contract and label by the end of this year alone.

“So, naturally, learning about how the industry functions is something that you should experience sooner rather than later, in order to know what you’re walking into if you make it through the rest of the show – and even if you’re eliminated, because contestants have still reached fame without winning. You’re all very intelligent and despite your boyhood, I feel as though my mini-spiel beforehand about maturity was unnecessary, considering you already are much more mature than most boys I’ve met that are your age.”

He paused to take a dramatic breath and Louis squeezed Harry’s hand reassuringly, feeling the green-eyed boy tense up in his chair again.

“I’m going to be upfront about everything, because that is what you deserve and require. Are we clear?”

The boys all nodded their assent, their fear slowly dissipating under the gaze of the first person – no matter how business centred said person was – who was treating them rather like adults than just lucky local kids from across the United Kingdom.

“But, I must warn you,” Simon continued blandly, adjusting his glasses and glancing momentarily at his computer screen, where Louis spotted an open word document filled with words that Louis couldn’t quite decipher through their blurry quality. “The moment I see that you’ve leaked _any_ information I share with you to any sources, social media or to somebody personally, I have the power to remove you from the show and end any future careers you may be offered.”

Niall gulped audibly, they all gushed and agreed to keep their mouths shut, and Simon began talking.

He explained to them in an even voice, eyes raking over them like they were items in a store, that not a single group act had won the _X-Factor_ because they’d never been likeable enough for audiences to enjoy. They’d all been something similar with _F.Y.D_ and _The Reason,_ unoriginal and bland and unable to be connected with. Completely, utterly unattainable and unable to hold a discussion with when it came to the public. Girl groups were at even more of a disadvantage, since they didn’t rake in as many votes as other groups due to the underlying sexism that the world still suffered from despite the slight hints of progress society had made in the new century.

With _F.Y.D_ and _Belle Amie_ being Simon’s other two acts, if his statistics were correct (which Louis, alongside his boys, believed _were_ correct), his only real option was _One Direction._

Well. _That_ was certainly a comfort, but also a slightly terrifying fact.

“Boybands like yourselves have to walk the line of approachable and unattainable,” he told them in a voice that could’ve been a commander’s in an army. “You have to be down-to-earth – normal boys with abnormal lives, so to speak. Given opportunities that you didn’t believe you’d ever have, and so you’re eternally grateful for that.”

“We don’t have to _act_ to achieve that,” Zayn pointed out in an offended voice, low and raspy. Simon fixed him with a stare, and Louis’ admiration for his friend rose incredibly high when Zayn didn’t break the stare.

“Well then,” Simon said, clasping his hands together and shooting Zayn a sickly-sweet smile. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. Now, as I was saying…”

Simon broke the stare first and Louis didn’t miss the way Zayn relaxed a fraction more in his chair, picking at his nails as he finally looked away from their mentor, eyes swirling with something Louis couldn’t identify.

“You won’t be successful no matter how hard you try if you seem bratty or unwilling to interact with the public and most importantly, your fanbase. You can’t be seen as _too_ available, though, like anybody could have you, because you’d lose fans through them losing hope they could ever be with you.”

“Seem available, but don’t actually _be_ available?” Liam asked, leaning forward in his chair with his brows furrowed as he processed it. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Simon offered a half smile. “Exactly. If a reporter ever asks you if you’d date a fan, you _must,_ under any circumstance, say _yes._ There’s always the possibility of being set up with fans on dates and whatnot in the future, so saying yes is really your only option if you want to avoid contractual and general life complications. But, _but,_ if the reporter asks for specifics regarding what _type_ of girl or fan you’d date, you must explain that they have to be the _perfect_ person for you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Why would we even _be_ set up with fans?” Niall asked, incredulous, and Simon waved a dismissive hand. “All in good time,” he said with one of those showbiz smiles. “I’m not going to overload you with information you most likely won’t require at this stage in your careers.”

Louis hadn’t known _why_ at that point, but he’d felt a little jolt of cold in his chest.

He inhaled sharply, before exhaling and continuing to speak. “Anyway, of course, if the marketing for the band is done well when it comes to the dating side of everything, every girl, and boy - - “ His eyes flickered to Louis for a moment longer than they probably should have if he was completely oblivious to _that_ , and Louis sat up a hint straighter in his chair, ignoring the quizzical looks his bandmates shot him. Simon, leaving Louis tense, opened his mouth and finished his point, “Will consider herself or himself or _themselves_ a perfect match for their favourite member of the band. _That’s_ what makes the sales go insane, when it comes to album and concert tickets and merchandise purchase decisions, because the fans want to seem as close to the band as possible without actually knowing them.”

That was what worked for all the huge, commonly known boybands, groups like _Westlife_ and _Backstreet Boys._

“And that brings me to my next point. Typically in boybands, each member has – I don’t know – a _role_ to play, so to speak. Like the bad-boy, the cute one, those sorts of roles.” Simon broke off, immediately taking notice of the distaste evident on each of their faces. “Of course, I don’t think that’ll be a major part of your marketing, considering - - “

“I don’t think we, y’know, consider ourselves a typical or like, generic boyband,” Harry bravely murmured, cutting the man off half-way through his sentence and Simon raised his eyebrows at the curly-headed boy, making Harry avert his eyes shyly and grip Louis’ hand just a little bit tighter, fingers slippery and clammy.

“Is that so?” Simon questioned, eyes widening slightly in something Louis could only gauge as curious. Zayn coughed in his chair.

“Yeah,” Niall responded, apparently eager to include his opinion on the matter. “We, erm, we practiced all types of music back in the bungalow, not just the typical boring pop stuff everyone else does. And I guess we don’t really fit the personas of other boybands, so.”

“And we don’t want to dance,” Zayn and Liam interjected, sharing a wide-eyed look with each other before Simon barked a harsh and raw laugh.

“Dancing really does royally suck,” Louis agreed, earning an anxious snort of laughter from Harry and a regarding nod from the man behind the desk.

“Well, I can certainly agree that you five don’t really fit the category of a regular boyband,” Simon agreed, relaxing back in his chair and adjusting his glasses again before he clasped his hands together on his abdomen. “Unfortunately though, you’ll remain seen as one before your target audience gets an accurate grasp on each of you, even if you don’t dance.”

“Won’t that be a good thing, being seen as generic in the beginning?” Louis asked, frowning as he looked at his shoes, scuffed and worn in at the point where they looked like they were going to fall apart.

“Elaborate,” Simon said with a wave of his hand, tilting his head just that little bit in curiosity.

“I mean, we’ll start off average n’ stuff, like normal, but then say one week we do a pop-rock cover instead of a typical pop cover, it’ll give us a tonne of media attention,” Louis babbled, licking his lips and running a nervous hand through his hair. “I guess like we’re breaking the mould, or something. Or even possibly a symbol of our growing maturity and originality. I guess it’d be open to interpretation. The media would be all _over_ us because of that.” He coughed a little and Harry squeezed his hand, this time reassuring him instead of the other way around. “But, yeah, that’s just a suggestion,” he mumbled, biting his bottom lip and looking away.

He could basically sense Simon’s raised eyebrow in surprise at his competence and Louis could pretty much sense Harry’s eyes, wide and supportive, trained on him. “Very impressive thinking, Louis,” Simon offered and Louis looked up and met the man’s eyes, his own wide in surprise. “Very impressive. That’s definitely a tactic you boys could use to gain some attention, for sure.”

Okay. Sure. Simon Cowell just complimented him. Louis was _fine._ He was _fine._

“So,” Niall mused and Louis’ eyes flickered momentarily over to the blonde who was a little shaky in his seat, uncertain. “We’re _One Direction,_ not the next _Westlife,_ or anything. How do we _do_ that?”

They spent a good, information-rich forty-five minutes discussing their individual musical influences, favourite artists and genres and comfort zones (Harry tried not to flush red in the cheeks as Louis said he liked _Sex On Fire_ by _Kings of Leon_ ) – including how far they could be pushed _out_ of their comfort zones without freaking out. They worked out which of the boys had similar music tastes and influences, figured out how to combine elements from each into a unique sound that would _somehow_ fit into one genre or another, all agreeing that anything from 60’s punk-rock to current chart-topping songs would _definitely_ be options to be considered.

“This is good work, boys,” Simon told them, examining his fiercely typed notes on his computer screen, typing out a final sentence or two before wheeling his desk chair backwards and exhaling with a small, business-like agreeance smile. “We can discuss song choices, themes and styling gradually, maybe early next week if I can fit you into my meeting timetable, but I’ll email one of you a practice schedule tomorrow morning so you all can see how your voices mesh together with a broad range of songs that I’ll _also_ provide you with. I’ll speak with some of my staff about everything we discussed and we’ll try and sketch out a draft marketing plan – which we’ll run through you before we publicise anything, of course. But, for now, I believe that afterparty that was mentioned a little earlier had started downstairs. Enjoy yourselves, you deserve it.”

Simon was right – the entire studio was buzzing when they made it downstairs, still jittery and excitable from their progress they’d made with their mentor. Louis shrieked happily once he’d spotted Cher across the room and practically launched himself into her arms, Cher laughing as she hugged him back, head on his shoulder and squeezing him tight. “Knew you’d be here, Tommo.”

“Same for you, same for you,” Louis beamed as he pulled back from their embrace, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. “Christ, I almost shat myself waiting for us to be cleared.”

“Ew!” Cher exclaimed, but she was giggling again as she fixed up her hair and patted him on the shoulder, nodding towards where he predicted his bandmates were stood. “Go save them, Lou. They look _so_ awkward I could cry from second-hand embarrassment.”

Still a little flushed and grinning like an idiot, Louis returned to his bandmates just as Mary called out from the drinks table and the awkward air was broken.

“My boys!” Mary called over, smiling at them welcomingly as she knocked back another drink of what Louis assumed was some variation of alcohol.

“Mary!” they cried back, each stepping up to hug her.

Louis broke away to greet _Belle Amie,_ despite it only having been a few days since he’d last seen them at the mansion in Marbella. They all seemed friendlier, Esther and Sophia even offering him soft embraces and congratulations at making it through while Rebecca Creighton and Geneva watched on from nearby, gazes evaluating. Louis guessed they were more relaxed after making it past Judges’ Houses, and so he hugged them back with a soft smile and murmured _‘thanks’_ and _‘you too’._

After he’d finished with the girls, he’d given polite nods in _F.Y.D’s_ direction, still not exactly fond of them for whatever reason (he had a fleeting though that perhaps it was because of Simon’s words regarding the group back in the meeting, but he didn’t want to linger on it).

He turned after a brief embrace and exchanged congratulations with Katie before - -

“ _Fuck,_ sorry man, I’m so clumsy - - wait, Louis?”

Louis glanced up, ready to open his mouth and spill out a rare apology, before:

“Aidan!” He cried out, leaping into his friend’s arms, making Aidan stumble back with the momentum of the movement. “You actually showed up, you inconsiderate _arse._ Was expectin’ you’d lied to me n’ didn’t make it. Surprised they thought you good enough, to be honest.”

“Liar, you had faith in me,” Aidan laughed as he pulled back and flicked Louis’ nose affectionately, making Louis squeak in retaliation and slap his shoulder. Christ, Louis had completely _forgotten_ there were _other_ Judges’ Houses, and that his _friend_ had been there, and he adamantly pushed away the little lingering feeling of guilt in the back of his mind.

He and Aidan had met during bootcamp when some of the contestants, including Louis and Harry, had joined together for a group rehearsal, spitting out harmony and melody ideas like no tomorrow. Louis had seen Aidan – who he hadn’t quite remembered the name of at the time – and noticed he was curled in on himself in the circle, knees to his chest and not too keen to join in with the rest of them. Louis, being the flamboyant semi-asshole he was, he shuffled away from Harry unnoticed and joined the withdrawn boy – or man, Louis couldn’t really tell, the guy’s younger facial features throwing him a little off. They’d bonded quickly, Louis’ knack for dragging people out of their shells, with or without permission, and Harry had hurried over, the three of them breaking off from the larger group and throwing their own melodies back and forth until Aidan had been smiling broadly and felt comfortable enough to talk about himself with the two younger and slightly idiotic boys.

“Who else made it?” Louis asked, back in the present instead of his own head as he grinned goofily at Aidan, who threw his head back and laughed openly. “And how much more talented are they than you so I can get an accurate gauge on how hard me and the boys have to kick arse in this competition?”

“I mean, this guy called Matt made it through,” Aidan started, smiling thoughtfully as he met Louis’ ice blue eyes once more. “He’s super chill, but crazy talented. He’ll probably be some of the main competition, I think. But, erm…”

“Spit it out, you absolute arsefuck,” Louis giggled, smacking Aidan’s shoulder again as his friend gestured vaguely behind Louis, making the blue-eyed boy turn and laugh so loud he had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle it. “Woah, hot damn, Target Boy made it through? Fuckin’ incredible, I tell you. I can get in my fruit-throwing ability up to date.”

“You look super creepy, stop it,” Aidan chuckled, ruffling an affectionate hand in Louis’ hair, making the younger of the two cry out in protest and swat his hand uselessly at Aidan. “And his name _is_ Nicolo, just to remind you. I think you gave him brain damage at bootcamp when you and Haz slammed him in the head with that watermelon and Niall lied and covered for you. He’s on edge whenever someone gets remotely close.”

Harry found them soon after, laughing like mental asylum patients as Louis slowly convinced Aidan to join _the cause of increasing Nicolo’s brain damage tenfold via fruit connection with his forehead before he gets kicked off the show for his bad looks._

“Aidan!” Harry greeted happily, launching into Aidan’s arms and knocking their friend back _again_ as he stumbled to regain his footing, laughing into Harry’s curls as they pulled back quickly. “Haz,” Aidan said back with a smile, but there was something in the air between them that made Louis a little awkward – like one or the other liked being there, but not as much as they should’ve. Louis tapped Harry’s hip pointedly and the curly-headed boy shook himself out, curls all matted and tangled together.

“You righ’?” He asked Harry, frowning as he watched the green-eyed boy nod a hint too robotically to be normal and offer a shady, concerning smile.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, Lou. S’just noisy in here, s’all.”

“Guess who’s here,” Louis said with a grin, an attempt to break the silence as he nudged Harry again, this time with his own hip.

“Who?”

“Target Boy,” Louis whispered out like it was an incriminating secret, nodding to where Nicolo was getting completely shit-faced in his own secluded corner of the bustling room. Harry snorted, licking his lips and glancing at Aidan for a moment before turning back to Louis and grinning devilishly.

“Perfect,” he laughed, eyes sparkling with something Louis couldn’t quite identify. “Someone else for you to focus all your ADHD energy on so I don’t have to burden it all.”

“Hey, you and the boys have an _equal_ share between you four - - “

“ _I_ get the worst of it, ask each of them yourself - - “

And Louis was pouting as Harry giggled like a little toddler, eyes still fixed on Louis’ seas of blue and smiling like he wasn’t going to give in and apologise when Aidan cleared his throat, sufficiently snapping the two of them out of their little moment.

“I’m, y’know, gonna check in with the other categories and see who made it through,” he told them a little stiffly, smile tense, gesturing over his shoulder at the building crowd, Louis distantly spotting Zayn and Cher doing shots despite the overbearing looks Liam and Mary were shooting them from the sidelines. “I’ll see you both later.”

Louis frowned as Aidan moved away, contemplating dragging his arse back to the two of them spitting out whatever had caused the faintly awkward air before, but Harry was leaning in so close that goose-bumps were startled along his skin as the curly-headed boy whispered about trays of fruit and whipped cream and Louis was completely, entirely distracted.

They were shuffled back to the _X-Factor_ house by an array of _Modest!_ assistants and PA staff after another hour or so of barely-allowed stupidity, bullying Nicolo and Zayn getting drunk and flirting with the _Belle Amie_ girls. All of them were buzzing with adrenaline and alcohol – even Harry, who, in all honesty, was a complete lightweight, having only had a shot or two and was already giggling like an idiot, splayed across Louis’ lap in the back of the van. Louis was enthused to note that one of the single rooms across from _One Direction’s_ shared living space belonged to Aidan, but was a tad bummed out when Aidan only offered a soft goodnight and closed his door behind himself.

Back inside their space, Zayn was already drunkenly passed out atop one of the bottom bunks, snoring like no tomorrow. Niall smacked a pillow over the darker boy’s face in an attempt to get him to shut up, only worsening the situation when he realised he may have increased the chance of Zayn suffocating in the cushion and the blonde regretfully withdrawing the muffling device from their drunk friend’s face.

Harry was already bundled up in his bottom bunk beneath Louis’, face all relaxed and eyes sparkly despite the alcohol intoxication. He beckoned Louis closer once Liam flicked the light off and climbed into his own bed, Niall doing the same, and Louis (because he was, quite frankly, unable to resist whatever Harry asked of him) moved closer.

“G’night, Lou,” Harry slurred with a sleepy smile, a streetlight outside catching on his eyelashes as he blinked slowly, making Louis have to forcefully fight off the temptation to run a soft hand through Harry’s inviting curls.

He breathed out softly and murmured, “Night, Harry,” and if he _did_ end up running a stray hand through Harry’s curls on his way up the ladder to his own top bunk, nobody but them had to know.

\--

_(31 st of September)_

It was the late morning, Harry in the kitchen, the third batch of chocolate cookies he’d cooked up for the contestants to enjoy in the oven, when his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket and he had to pause his peaceful baking.

He fished his phone from his pocket and immediately clicked the accept button, not checking the number or anything, still too heavy with sleep to really consider identifying the caller. “Hello? Harry Styles here. I don’t have you in my contacts, so I don’t know who you are, I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” the voice said, all tinny yet still somehow powerful through the phone’s speakers and Harry froze in his spot, recognising who it was almost instantly. “Hello Harry, it’s Simon, as I’m sure you can tell now.”

“Hi Simon,” Harry greeted, voice soft and small.

“It’s good to hear your voice again, after a few days since our first meeting at Fountain Studios. I was just calling to let you know that I’ve fit you in for a meeting with me at ten-fifteen this morning. It’ll be a quick one, I promise, so don’t assume your morning plans have been interrupted, if you had any.”

Harry didn’t know whether a polite laugh was the right indication that he’d heard, so instead he replied through a suppressed yawn with, “Okay. Um, thank you, Simon. I’ll let the others know and we’ll be there for um, for the meeting.”

“No, I think you misunderstood me, Harry,” Simon said, a slight hint of amusement in his tone that made Harry flush red with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just you and me today. But while you’re at it, could you let Mr Tomlinson know that he also has a meeting with me, at one, on the dot? Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too,” Harry murmured back faintly, but Simon had already hung up, phone beeping to solidify it. _Christ,_ a private meeting with _Simon Cowell?_ And _only_ Harry and Louis having them? Of course, maybe the others were on different days, but it didn’t stop his heart was beating a fraction faster with anxiety. He had to have done _something_ to warrant a private meeting - - unless it was standard protocol for new group acts to have such meetings?

Harry didn’t know. _He didn’t know._

He could smell the cookies starting to burn in the oven and quickly stuffed his phone back into his pocket, allowing him a free hand to flick off the machine and move to the side so he could tug it open, slipping the mittens on so skilfully he didn’t really notice himself doing it.

His hands were shaking almost dangerously so as he withdraw the tray of cookies and slid it on to the kitchen bench next to the stove, kicking the oven shut unceremoniously as he braced himself on the bench, feeling his heart kicking in his chest. He had to breathe a little slower, a bit more controlled, needed an anchor.

He blinked a view times, envisioning soft tanned skin and kind blue eyes as he moved the cookies one by one to a plate he’d left on the bench at some point he couldn’t remember, feeling his breathing even out and his heartbeat slow down to a rate that wasn’t so fast he was scared his chest was going to burst open with the force of it.

It was silent, and he felt okay. Okay enough to take the plate of fresh cookies over to the other two plates already prepared, okay enough not to burn himself. His head was spinning a little, the almost-anxiety attack powerful enough to reside in his body for a little while as he ran a hand over his face and exhaled roughly.

There were only a few more moments of peace though before Louis came flying down the staircase and slid to a stop at the kitchen island, grinning like an absolute idiot. Harry’s head was still spinning and aching, but he found himself giggling just a little as Louis threw his head back and absolutely _screamed,_ “WAKE THE FUCK UP, EVERYBODY, IT’S SHOWTIME!”

Harry adjusted his grey woolly jumper and black sweatpants as, just as he’d expected, four or five different people stumbled from their respective rooms situated on the lower floor, looking disorientated and exhausted as they stretched and yawned, almost zombie-like, moving to the living space where the absolutely _massive_ television was hanging on the wall, blaring out the morning news. Louis slid up to his side and batted his eyelashes, smiling innocently as one of his hands reached for his third cookie – he’d already somehow managed to steal two without Harry noticing, the absolute demon of a perfect, _perfect_ boy – and Harry smacked his hand away with his own, biting his lip.

“No no, go join the others at the sofa,” he tutted, barely managing not to fall for Louis’ too-cute-for-his-own-good pout and clasped hands. “I’ll be there in a min, I promise.”

“With the cookies?”

“With the cookies,” he confirmed, grinning when Louis sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders before he retreated from the kitchen.

Harry finished decorating the final cookie before arranging his collection on two trays that he precariously balanced on his spread palms, following Louis to the main living space the contestants shared. On his way to the room, stepping carefully to avoid the trip and fall he knew he was very, _very_ capable of, he heard Louis whining about something to two other voices and he grinned devilishly.

“Yeah, well. I still claimed this seat!” Louis was complaining as Harry entered the packed room, holding the cookie trays with such focus that he was one-hundred-percent sure he looked mildly ridiculous to anyone who didn’t understand how clumsy he was.

“Yes, I remember your slightly-drunken exclamations last night,” Cher giggled, Katie pressed into her side with a wicked grin on her face. “But, point A – you were drunk, and I’m surprised you even remembered your supposed claiming.”

“Was not _that_ drunk!” Louis protested, but Cher just grinned as she continued her spiel. “Point B – you weren’t here and there weren’t signs, so, I did what our people do best and stole it.” Katie snickered into Cher’s throat at the joke and cuddled closer, eyes fluttering shut in relaxation, looking like she could drift off to sleep right then and there.

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry giggled, intervening swiftly before Louis could start in on whatever insults he was quite obviously concocting in his hyperactive mind. “We can just sit on the floor.”

Louis huffed overdramatically at Katie and Cher, who batted their eyelashes at him innocently as he announced, “Neither of you get a cookie!”

“Wait, did Haz make cookies?” Niall called from somewhere near the back of the room, interest perked over the possibility of food as he detached himself from the deep conversation he’d been in with Matt, who followed Niall’s eyes to where Harry was standing, flushed under the attention. Harry passed the trays to the nearest two individuals, and the cookies eventually made their way around the entire room until the trays made their way back to Harry, who, feeling guilty, allowed Cher and Katie to take a cookie each too. When he returned to Louis, the older boy was pouting at him, but still burrowed himself into Harry’s side, arms around Harry’s torso as the lights were flicked off, the room going dark until the _X-Factor_ logo lit up on the television as a familiar voice flooded through the room.

_“Thousands applied, and now just thirty-two acts remain - - “_

A thrill of exhilaration shot through Harry’s veins, anxiety withdrawing a fraction more into the back of his head as he processed that _holy fuck,_ he and his favourite boys were on _television,_ absolutely internally losing their shit at the possibility of going home and never seeing each other again. A few more seemingly endless moments and then Dermot overtook the screen, sending off the _Boys_ category at their Judge’s House in Sydney, Australia, with the Opera House a dancing collection of white and lights in the distance.

The contestants fell into an awkward silence as they watched the screen closely, Louis cuddling a bit closer to Harry and making a small noise in the back of his throat. Harry had to fight viciously against the blush rising to his cheeks.

Katie was the one to break the silence, sniggering at herself on the screen. “Christ, I look scared out of my fucking _mind,”_ she giggled, sufficiently breaking through the tense layer in the air. “Like, seriously, nobody else has looked _that_ terrified yet.”

After that, the atmosphere was more fun – more like what Harry and Louis had been expecting when they’d persuaded the rest of the _X-Factor_ to join them in watching that week’s episode of the show together. Friendly teasing, stupid remarks and jokes and Louis recounting his injury with so much melodrama that an anonymous cookie was thrown at the back of his head so hard he yelped in pain. Harry heard Zayn and Liam cackling at the back where they were lounging with three out of four of the _Belle Amie_ girls and Harry had to cover his own mouth to mask his little giggle.

That didn’t change Louis picking up the half-eaten cookie and eating it slowly, licking the little crumbs off his fingers.

Harry had to look away for a while after he saw that, focusing entirely on the television and swallowing _hard_ as he bit at his bottom lip, trying desperately to ignore the hot press of a very attractive and seductive boy against his side who _definitely_ knew what he was doing in that single action.

“You have a meeting with Simon at one,” Harry mumbled as a way of distracting himself and Louis made a sound of obvious surprise on his side, shuffling a little closer. “I have one at ten-fifteen.”

Louis tensed and made a move to respond, but Geneva and Rebecca from _Belle Amie_ did a pretty spot on impression of Simon glaring at _Twem_ as they performed, accenting their impressions with little mumbles that made everybody laugh and then Niall was cheering and Liam and Zayn were yelling at him to shut up so the rest of the contestants could watch the newly formed _One Direction_ being broadcast to the entire nation for the first time _ever_ all together besides that fateful moment on July 23rd.

Louis slung himself carelessly across Harry’s lap as he readjusted his position on the floor and Harry snorted, batting at his friend blindly because he couldn’t manage to take his eyes off the screen in front of him. The four boys he knew personally – alongside himself – looked akin to alien on the screen, all the intense nerves and makeup paving the way for that. Harry could scarcely recognise himself up there too, curls actually semi-organised thanks to the copious amounts of hairspray and combing their hair stylist had forced him through and face pale with anxiousness.

The teasing continued – Cher calling back to Liam to ask which mop he stole to replace his hair with – but it was more playful, gentler. Harry and Niall shared unsurprised expressions from across the room, the blonde grinning like an idiot where he was next to Matt, who was relaxed against the wall, legs crossed and eyes trained on the television, utterly silent.

There’d been shocked expressions and murmurs at the afterparty to see the boys there, let alone _both_ of Simon’s experiment group acts, but at least after this the confused mutterings and surprise would dissipate closer to non-existent. The others knew then that they weren’t there just on luck, for their looks or Simon’s ignorant and business-filled brain.

They weren’t just reduced to stupid and lucky boys. They could sing (“ _Filled with untouched talent,” Simon’s voice sounded in Harry’s brain and he grinned to himself),_ and they were there to _stay._

\--

Harry had slipped off without the other boys noticing fairly easily during the show, the contestants having decided to all binge old seasons of the _X-Factor_ for shits and giggles. He’d left the room at around nine-thirty, taking travel time to Fountain Studios into consideration as he’d exited, reaching into the pocket of his sweats and dialling the PA group phone number. A sweet sounding woman picked up after a few rings of the phone and kindly organised him an inconspicuous travel route by car to the studio (he’d told Niall that he was going to the studio to try and find Kaya and Charlie, and Niall had given him a thumbs up to show that he’d heard).

The drive to the studio had been a little awkward, Harry tapping his fingers anxiously on his thigh as he stared out the window, the car silent save for the faint playing of the radio. He didn’t recognise the song, not a bit, but the driver was humming along quietly and that was enough for him to keep his mouth shut because obviously, he didn’t need to start a conversation.

Walking the hallways on his own had been a little nerve-wracking the say the least, his heart beating faster and his breathing a little more erratic than usual as he’d arrived at Simon’s door and knocked, waiting politely on the other side before the door opened to the inside and he entered, Simon already taking his seat back behind his desk and smiling somewhat welcomingly at Harry.

“Welcome back, Harry,” the man greeted, gesturing to the leather seats before the desk. “Take your pick. You have five options.”

He complied without a word, nervously picking at his nails as he took back the seat he’d first sat in when they’d had the first meeting with Simon the other day, shifting until he was comfortable.

“Hi Simon,” he murmured, licking his lips and averting his eyes. “Thank you for having me.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Simon countered, ever the conversationalist (or businessman looking to make a good impression of one of his test marketing ideas, but Harry couldn’t exactly say that aloud). Simon cleared his throat and unlocked his computer with quick taps to the keyboard, stopping to look at Harry’s slightly trembly figure with a supposed-to-be reassuring smile that just made Harry a fraction more anxious as he looked up once again.

“So, I’m sure you’re curious as to why I called you here today,” Simon started, not waiting for Harry to respond before he continued in a practiced bland voice. “Well, I can assure you it’s nothing out of the ordinary and I run through a similar process with all of my group acts. We’re here to discuss your public image, and how PR – public relations – are going to be involved in your life as a celebrity.”

Harry spluttered a little as Simon paused, quickly interjecting before Simon said anything else. “I thought erm, PR stuff was for once somebody properly made it? Or like, _starts_ gaining success? We don’t, erm, really have been traction yet, from what I know.”

Simon chuckled softly. “Mr Styles, I can see that you’re quite oblivious to how you’ve already made quite the impression on the media – the young female viewers of the show, to be exact.”

_Oh._

Harry made an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat, trying and failing to remember how to communicated properly in an interview situation as he squeaked out, “Wh - - what does that, like, mean for me?”

“We’re going to be producing your public image a little faster than we would have normally,” Simon answered smoothly, not bothering to acknowledge Harry’s shakiness. “That’s all. It’s nothing too strenuous, I can assure you, and we’ve had to do it once or twice before and it’s proven successful.”

Harry nodded by way of agreement, refusing to open his mouth again for fear of making an awkward sound and instead settling back into his chair as Simon prepared to deliver another one of those information-rich spiels, an uneasy feeling twisting in his stomach as something ticked in the back of his brain – an instinctual feeling that told him something was _wrong_ with what Simon said. That it wasn’t truthful.

But how would Harry know? How _could_ he know? He couldn’t.

Simon didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil and instead began talking again. “As I mentioned in our original meeting, each boyband member, even sometimes girl-group members, has had to play a specific, media-approved role in the past to attract a collection of audiences instead of just one fixed target market. The typical ‘roles’, so to speak, are the bad-boy, the attitude-filled one, the mature one, the cute and childish one, and the woman-loving one.” Simon paused again, swallowing almost uncomfortably as he watched Harry (or was that just a figment of Harry’s imagination? He didn’t know). “It’s a standardised procedure that’s been happening for years, so we’ll have to tweak a few elements to create an original marketing image for the band, otherwise you’ll just be another, too heavily processed experiment group for the media to slam for decades. But, to translate it into simpler terminology, if we’re going off the classic roles that we’ll be adjusting to fit, by the way things are going, you’re most likely going to be filling the last role of the one who is most familiar with women.”

The nerves in his gut curled into a boiling hot slab of iron, the uncomfortable feeling in his heart that something was severely _wrong_ growing beyond comprehension.

Christ, they wanted to turn him into a _womaniser?_ One of the few things that Harry and any other decent human being absolutely, completely hated?

“I thought you said we wouldn’t really be using those, erm, roles?” Harry asked quietly, eyes wide and mind ready to absorb everything he heard.

“As I vaguely mentioned just before, we won’t be,” Simon reassured him, turning back to his computer and tilting it so the glare wasn’t as bad on the screen. “Trust me, we won’t explicitly be using those roles. They’re outdated and far too ineffective to be used in these times and, as aforementioned, there will be changes made to suit this day and age.” Simon broke off, briefly collecting himself before he continued.

“There’ll be, let’s say, _implications._ Media articles briefly mentioning things like it. For example, there’ll be rumours regarding you seeing, again, _for example,_ a lovely lady like Kendell Jenner, or even somebody like Caroline Flack. Scheduled pap walks, dates. That sort of basic, easy stuff. Of course, that won’t be all, as that wouldn’t be an effective marketing strategy, but that’ll be most of it. It’s a simple and effective way of drawing in the female viewers, thinking they have a chance to get with a young and attractive man such as yourself, henceforth boosting album and ticket sales as they try to get as close to you as possible.”

“Oh.” Harry shifted uncomfortably, gulping. He may not have liked the idea, may have hated it, the idea of objectifying himself and women, but he had to admit that Simon’s business antics made quite a bit of sense.

He just hoped – prayed – that not all people in the world would want to sleep with him and get their hands all through his curls like they were born for it if his image were to be shaped in this direction. “Right. Okay. Caroline Flack? Isn’t she a bit, y’know, old?”

Simon snorted and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together on his lower stomach. “Again, she was just an example. You’re right – she’s a bit old for you and wouldn’t be as convincing. I’m not very up to date with the modern women celebrities, as you can tell.” He coughed, ducking his head before he cleared his throat.

“Continuing on – your image in the media isn’t just going to consist of rumours and legends. It relates to how you dress, how you talk, how you react to certain things, like being asked who your _perfect person_ would be, what they’d be like. What types of things they’d enjoy doing, what they’d believe in. You’ll go through some media training to learn about that type of issue, don’t fret. Moving on with the dressing point, I’ve already had a discussion with the fashion director and her assistant for this season and she mentioned how you expressed an interest in wearing stereotypically feminine things – silk, skinny jeans, possibly nail polish.”

Harry could already sense where the conversation was going and blinked a few times in quick succession to ward off the watery quality his gaze was taking on. It was a habit he’d carried since he was as young as five, something he couldn’t make go away, but he got teary-eyed and always felt as though he was on the verge of crying when he was anxious and - - and he definitely _was_ anxious then, something he _hated_ and _shit,_ Simon couldn’t ever see him like that, _ever_.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but if we’re going to push the right image for you, we can’t have you being overly feminine _just_ yet.” The man behind the desk didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest, but Harry wasn’t surprised as Simon continued, “Of course, you can still wear these things in private and possibly in the future of your career, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For the moment, when you’re on stage and in public, you’ll have to dress a little more conservative, like a normal boy your age.”

“That’s not _me,_ though,” Harry argued quietly, biting at his lip because _fuck,_ he hadn’t even thought about it before he’d spoken but now he was going for it. “I thought we were going to be as authentic - - as _real_ as possible, and - - and t-shirts and baggy pants and chewed down nails aren’t _me._ Is that… Is that how we’ll just, y’know, start off as? Or will it be permanently like that? I know you said it could change in the future, but just - - Yeah.”

“Oh, Harry, it won’t be permanent. I apologise for leading you on to that assumption,” Simon was quick to console, looking a little startled at Harry’s open protest – something he probably didn’t receive very often. Harry didn’t know whether it was nerves or pride he was feeling as he processed that. “How you dress is never a permanent thing in the business of fame,” Simon told him in a steady voice. “It has to change as you mature, as you grow into yourself a little more, start to understand what you like and what you don’t like, or it becomes unrealistic. You’re awfully mature for a sixteen-year-old, which means you already _know_ all of that much too early for it to be normal. That’s why we’re publicly delaying it for slightly longer than you originally thought.”

“Right,” Harry croaked, cracking his knuckles. “Right, okay. So what do you want me to do? Or start doing? Or will I leave everything up to you?” He broke off as he met Simon’s eyes again, wide and dark and oddly blank. Harry gulped nervously and averted his gaze, muttering out a little, “Sorry, Simon.”

“Don’t apologise, Harry,” Simon offered with a supposed-to-be-reassuring smile, twisting the desktop connecting to his computer so Harry could see it without having to get out of his hair. “Curiosity is a natural thing for you to be experiencing at this point in time. Whenever you feel as though you need to ask me a question, do so. I won’t mind.” The older figure in the room coughed once, twice, before he looked Harry up and down in his seat and said:

“Let me show you what I have in mind.”

\--

Louis couldn’t stop checking the clock.

He was in the studio with Cher and Zayn, Niall and Liam off at one of the food tables stealing enough to feed them until the next blood moon – or something. Louis wasn’t really focusing on that, to be completely honest, nor was he focusing on the fuelled debate his two friends were having in front of him (he didn’t even really know _what_ they were arguing about, but he wasn’t about to ask).

It had been an hour and forty-three minutes since Harry had left for Fountain Studios, around an hour and twenty-eight minutes since the curly-headed boy had texted him a sweet little _going in now xx_ to let Louis know that his meeting with Simon was starting.

So. Harry had been in a meeting with _Simon Cowell_ for an hour and twenty-eight minutes.

If Harry’s meeting was going on for _this_ long, Louis could only begin to imagine how long his own private meeting would go for – _especially_ if Simon’s little comments about the damn genders bled their way over into it from the first group meeting.

To say Louis was freaking out would’ve been a complete understatement. The others had noticed it almost immediately but allowed him to brood on his own as they usually did before he broke and it became too much and he clung to one of them like a koala, searching for comfort. They’d learned quickly that Louis needed to be the one initiating the contact instead of somebody else when it came to the eldest needing emotional support, and Louis was so incredibly thankful that they’d figured it out quickly because otherwise he didn’t know whether they’d still be best-friends or not.

It didn’t take him very long to break, though. Didn’t take very long for his head to get staticky and his hands to start trembling borderline violently. Within the span of ten minutes of him turning over possible outcomes in his mind, he’d gone from pacing and thinking individually to being curled into a self-preserving ball in Zayn’s lap, Niall and Liam having returned from the tables of food and leaning against them from either side, Louis’ eyes closed and breathing heavily as he tried to centre himself. Cher watched on from the sidelines fondly for a few seconds before climbing to her feet gracefully and seeming to float away, calling back that she was going to go find Katie before she disappeared, Louis truthfully not really processing any of it, heart beating erratically in his chest.

“So, are you finally goin’ to tell us what’s been on your mind for the past hour or so?” Zayn mused, voice delicate and comforting as he clutched Louis closer, the eldest member of the band making a soft and satisfied noise in the back of his throat, cuddling closer into his friend’s warm body. Niall and Liam went fluidly with the movement, staying quiet and allowing Louis to have all the time he needed in order to collect himself enough to talk.

“Harry’s in a meetin’ with Simon,” he started in a small voice, the others nodding along as he paused to catch his breath. He’d told them where the curly-headed boy had disappeared to, feeling a little guilty for keeping them in the dark for almost half an hour when Harry didn’t come back to the living space and eventually cracking when Liam shot him those innocent little puppy eyes and Niall basically begged him to tell them where Harry had gone. “’N I have one soon. I think. Yeah. ‘M jus’ nervous, ‘cause I don’ know what we’re goin’ to talk about. Harry’s been gone for ages, too, so… Yeah. Jus’ nervous.” He’d rambled, sure, but it was out in the open then, and he felt a little better.

Zayn had started absentmindedly stroking his hand up and down Louis’ back in a soothing motion, keeping Louis steady even if he hadn’t noticed it. Niall looped an arm around Louis’ back and Liam copied the motion, all of them tangled together in a pile of boys and limbs that looked like they couldn’t possibly be separated.

“’M sure you’ll be fine, and I bet Harry’s fine, too,” Liam offered, ever the comforting figure, always a reassuring and logical presence. “Simon probably just wants to revise marketing plans ‘n stuff. Basic industry things. That’d be why it’s taking Harry so long, because he’d want to see the whole draft of the plan, y’know?”

“But wha’ if s’more than that?” Louis protested, voice small and breaking a fraction, trying to focus on Zayn’s soft and comforting breathing pattern and hardly being able to. “What if it’s the marketing plan and _then_ some? Like how we’re supposed to act, how we’re supposed to be aroun’ anyone and everyone? I can’t _do_ that, Liam. I’m not an ‘orrible actor, bu’ I can’t pretend t’be somethin’ ‘m not. You _know_ tha’.”

“Louis,” Zayn said firmly, exhaling forcefully like he usually did before he went on one of those insanely intellectual and logical spiels. “Harry’s _fine,_ and you will be, too _._ Like Liam said, it’s probably just extensive marketing plan information with a little bit of image drafting. It’s common protocol for celebrities to follow when they originally start out, so they can like, grow into a successful image.”

Louis inhaled and exhaled evenly, hearing Niall and Liam’s murmured agreements and slowly relaxing into the cuddle pile a little more. He shifted in Zayn’s lap, dislodging Niall (who made a little noise of complaint, but went with the movement nonetheless) and Louis sighed into Zayn’s collarbone. “That’d make sense, yeah,” he admitted, feeling stupid for worrying. “‘M sorry.”

He could hear Zayn scoff and felt Niall and Liam shake their heads, Niall getting out a short, “Don’t be sorry. There’s no need to be,” when one of the side doors swung open and a familiar voice rang out through the space.

“Did I miss an orgy, or somethin’? You guys look completely drained.”

Louis somehow managed to disentangle himself from the others and spring to his feet, sprinting over and launching himself into Harry’s arms just as the door swung closed behind them.

Harry yelped and lost his balance for a moment before regaining it, pressing his face into Louis’ collarbone with a giggle and a grin that was sure to drive Louis mad someday.

The other three boys closed in on all sides and joined in with the embrace, Niall leaping on to Harry’s back with one of his lovable cackles and looping his arms around the curly-headed boy’s neck and his legs hitching on Harry’s hips. Zayn squawked somewhere to Louis left as someone – Louis thought it was Liam – accidentally kneed the Bradford boy in the stomach, but Louis couldn’t really concentrate as he tugged Harry closer again, laughing as Liam yelped out a, “Zayn what the hell was that for, I swear it was Niall who kneed you,” and feeling Harry shift as Niall almost fell off his back.

Louis eventually pulled back from the embrace, still trapped in close by Zayn and Liam’s arms and he looked Harry right in the eye, pupils wide and voice concerned as he rambled out, “How was it? Are you okay? What did you guys talk ‘bout?”

“Woah, nosy much,” Liam teased in Louis’ ear and he batted at his friend with an indignant noise in the back of his throat, making Niall cackle again where he was still perched on Harry’s back. “Hush, Liam,” Louis crowed with a dismissive wave of his hand, bringing it down and clapping the back of the younger’s head, making his friend squawk in retaliation. “Allow me to be my nosy self, thank you.”

“Really Lou, it was fine,” Harry laughed, a gentle blush rising in his cheeks to accompany the almost-signature smile on his lips. “We sort of just discussed how my image is going to be marketed, or whatever. Apparently I’ve already, y’know, gotten a lot of media attention.” He paused to card an embarrassed hand through his curls as Zayn wolf-whistled teasingly and Niall cooed out a, “ _Woah,_ our little Harold baby is growing up!”

Harry rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek before he finished his little explanation. “Simon wanted to jump on it pretty quick before it developed to a point that couldn’t be contained, y’know, if Simon and management ever found it necessary.”

“It’s probably the curls,” Liam said earnestly, reaching over and ruffling said curls in an affectionate and playful manner, Harry grinning and trying to swat his hand away without dislodging Niall, the blonde still clinging to him like a koala. “I’m serious!” The muscled boy rasped as if they didn’t realise, quickly continuing his train of thought as Zayn opened his mouth to interject. “They’re awfully seducing. Seduced Lou since day one.”

It was Louis’ turn to swat at Liam again, but he was laughing with the others and the tensing muscles of his shoulders were relaxing back into their regular placement, loose and making him look less fearful, less afraid over something he’d just been assuming would happen.

That didn’t change the fact that he still didn’t want Simon to even hint at _that._ And he had a feeling he definitely, definitely would.

_(1 st of October)_

The following morning at around six o’clock, Harry stumbled down the last three stairs and slammed his face on the cold metal of the stair railing.

Okay, sure, he may have been disorientated for several _intense_ reasons (alongside having only gotten a few hours of sleep, but he’d never tell anyone that he was up because he’d been worried to the point of throwing up, ever) but still. He didn’t think he was so out of it that smacking his head into cold metal was the right type of punishment for his restless sleep, disturbed by dreams about nameless tanned, naked skin pressing into his, soft words whispered in his ear - -

The kitchen was silent as he clambered to his feet and rubbed his eyes in attempt to clear his vision, head spinning from the collision with the solid bar of metal. He hadn’t bothered to throw any clothes on besides his pyjama shirt that he’d surprised everybody with wearing to bed the previous night, too out of it to really focus on much as he rolled his head on his shoulders and cracked his neck.

Louis had left for his meeting the previous day an hour or so after Harry had returned to the other boys, and the eldest of the band hadn’t returned to the bunks _at all._ Harry had tried to stay awake, he really had, but eventually a phone torch had been flicked on and Zayn had climbed into his bunk beside him with a frown, not even bothering to ask why Harry was awake still, instinctively knowing the reason. The older of the duo began gently coaxing the curly-headed boy into a restless sleep, singing softly and carding skilful fingers through Harry’s hair like it was second-nature, which - - Okay, yeah, it probably was, considering all four of his fellow bandmates seemed to have an addiction with touching Harry’s curls, but hey, there was nothing wrong with that, right? Especially when he’d been bordering on a panic attack and Zayn – alongside the others, really – knew exactly how to calm him down.

He wondered if Louis was back at the _House_ yet. Harry hoped his best-friend has returned to the building, hoped he was cuddled up somewhere under a pile of warm blankets, hair all messy and soft.

Harry couldn’t think about that too much, though, because he could feel his anxiety creeping back up in his throat and _Christ,_ he needed to move so he didn’t look like too much of an idiot.

“Christ, morning to ya too, Harold,” Niall cackled and Harry spied the blonde grinning at him like the devil himself. The curly-headed boy moved over to the kitchen island and smacked Niall upside the head, making the bleached-blonde descend into even more cackles and swat uselessly back at him, Harry biting the inside of his cheek against a yawn. “Ya look dead to the world.”

“Very good morning, it would seem,” Cher commented from her stool on the other side of the counter, swallowing her mouthful of steaming hot coffee and setting the mug down gently. “You look completely fucked out. Did you just lose your virginity, or something? Sneak somebody in from the streets? Daring little bastard, you are.”

“Niall!” Harry whined as he moved about the kitchen, collecting the necessary ingredients for his morning baking brain’s delight – pancakes, his cheeks all flushed red. “Did you _have_ to tell her about that? And for the record, no. Unfortunately not. ‘M just exhausted.” _Just exhausted,_ he repeated to himself mentally, rolling his eyes. “Leave me alone.”

“Point A – _I_ was actually the one who informed Cher of your unfortunate virginity status,” drawled a voice from the corner of the room that Harry immediately recognised as Zayn. He spun around in his spot and glared at the darker skinned boy who was lounging at one of the excessively large windowsills, the curtains miraculously drawn closed so the outside world couldn’t look _in._ “Point _B –_ she’ll leave you alone when you actually put on some bloody pants, Jesus Christ. Nobody needs to see your junk at six in the morning.” His comforting mood from the night before seemed forgotten, but then again, Zayn had never been the nicest person in the morning and - - well. Harry couldn’t blame him, really.

It didn’t change how thankful he was for the night before. He just hoped that translated to Zayn

Harry shrugged, still wiping the sleep from his eyes as he fished a blanket or towel – he couldn’t really decipher in his half-awake state – and wrapped it around his waist before he reached for the stove and flicked on the temperature.

“Damn, well, that can be added to _your_ personal blanket collection,” Cher said dismissively, but she was grinning at Harry like an idiot. “It’s a hard pass, but I’ll have to avoid snuggling with Katie and Bex under something that’s been against _both_ your dick and bare arse simultaneously.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow, fishing the shop-purchased pancake mix from the pantry to his left and teased playfully in an attempt to distract himself from his nerves, “Sure about that?”

Zayn was throwing a caramel and chocolate muffin Harry hadn’t noticed at the curly-headed boy’s head as more people stumbled into the kitchen, half-awake and sniffing at the pancakes Harry was throwing together in the frypan, flipping them with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He heard a bit of commotion behind him at the kitchen bench, a little squawk from Niall that sounded like Louis’ name and a half-suppressed snort from Zayn at the windowsill the only indicator of what happened.

Sure enough, Louis had slid into the chair Harry had stolen the blanket from, looking barely awake and with his chin on his folded forearms.

Harry’s heart seemed to float up into his throat with a mix of emotions that he couldn’t quite place but made him feel queasy, and Harry hastily chucked the swiftly cooked pancakes on to a plate, all stacked so people could take at their free will before he placed the plate in the middle of the kitchen island and nudged Louis out of the seat to take it for himself.

Louis relinquished his seat to the green-eyed boy before slinging himself into Harry’s lap, all curled up and lacing his arms around his friend’s neck, burrowing his face into Harry’s throat with a soft, relaxed and tired smile, making grabby hands at the stack of pancakes. They didn’t say a word, but Harry was one-hundred-percent sure that Louis could _feel_ the way the curly-headed boy relaxed at the contact and he had the vague feeling that his friend _knew_ about Harry’s restless night.

Harry loyally fished Louis a pancake – alongside one for himself – and flushed pink as Louis pressed a thankful and sloppy and tired kiss to his cheek before taking the pancake and stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth, cuddling back into Harry’s throat like it was where he wanted to remain forever.

Harry wouldn’t mind it if Louis did, in fact, want to stay there. He attempted to eat with one hand, ignoring the pointed look he was receiving from Zayn that seemed to say _you lost sleep for no reason, mate,_ as Harry wrapped an arm around Louis’ back for support and tried to bite back his smile around a mouthful of pancake.

There was something… _Off_ about Louis, though. Usually in the mornings he was more energetic, no matter if he slept or not. He’d be bouncing off the walls, shoving something on to Zayn’s head or playing with things he wasn’t supposed to. Not clinging to Harry like he was too tired to stand up on his own, too tired to keep his eyes open.

He tried to brush off that ugly feeling in his chest at the realisation, but he stopped thinking anything for a few seconds as Louis shifted closer and breathed hotly on the sensitive skin of Harry’s throat.

“What’s planned for today?” Esther from _Belle Amie_ slurred, tiredly yet somehow still gracefully snatching three pancakes from the pile and transferring them to the plate she’d collected from the kitchen. She slid into the stool next to Harry and ruffled his curls, jostling Louis a fraction – the stroke through his hair a display of affection the green-eyed boy hadn’t been expecting, but admittedly liked as it jolted him back into the present – before Esther dug into her food, hair soft looking and messy. “My girls are all still asleep. Tired.”

“I think today is our first day in the studio,” Zayn answered, having left his window seat to join them at the kitchen counter, smelling vaguely like cigarettes as he reached for a pancake from Esther’s plate, the girl smacking his hand away with a little smile.

Louis mumbled something into Harry’s throat that sounded like _‘but I wanna sleep longer’_ and Harry smiled almost sadly, tugging him a little closer.

“Gonna be a big day, then,” Niall said thoughtfully, having stuffed himself full of half of the pancakes from the pile _somehow_ without Harry noticing. He shot the blonde a reproachful look and Niall shrugged, eyes glimmering excitedly as he reached over and tapped Louis on the head, Louis muttering a curse at him and cuddling closer to Harry, spitting out a little, “Niall, I’ll rip your hand off.”

“Kinky.”

“I _will_ do it, you bastard.”

“I wish you were going to be wrong on the point of it being a big day, Niall,” Harry mumbled, quick to jump in and change the topic as he licked his lips, Louis hitting his chest half-heartedly for cutting into the argument. “But I don’t think you will be.”

“You’ll just have to get off your lazy arse, then,” Zayn snickered and Harry reached over Esther’s smartly ducked head to smack his friend in the face, Louis giggling against his throat.

\--

As they filed into the studio like sheep being herded by a shepherd, they got their first surprise of the day.

“Hi everybody,” Cheryl greeted from behind an ominous wooden desk in the corner of the room, not unlike the desk in Simon’s office, her hands clasped together on the cool surface. Her hair was styled neatly and she wore a nicely chosen outfit, something Harry himself would happily wear – a black turtleneck with dark denim jeans and black heels that Harry could just see if he peeked under the lip of the desk. Her lips were stretched in a practiced smile as she surveyed everybody, eyes lingering on Harry’s arm around a still almost-dead-to-the-world and sleepy Louis (but Harry may have been imagining that for no reason whatsoever other than his anxiety deciding to rear its ugly head).

Louis mustn’t have noticed anything, because he burrowed closer into Harry’s side and rested his head on the green-eyed boy’s shoulder with a soft sigh, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath as his eyes fluttered closed.

Harry couldn’t quite shake the feeling that _something_ had happened in Louis’ meeting with Simon.

“Hi Cheryl,” they all answered back like a mantra, Harry catching Zayn in his left peripherals trying to suppress a yawn and a roll of his eyes.

“It’s lovely to see you all. Now, we have a surprise for you.” She paused dramatically, Harry only just noticing the cameras on the sides, the backup collection filming, quite obviously, _backup_ footage – undoubtedly – for if something happened to the fit-for-television videos of whatever the announcement was. He felt his skin start to itch and he shifted anxiously, making Louis pull him closer again.

“Meet the Wild Cards!”

Louis shot up from his position on Harry’s shoulder like he’d been electrically shocked just as four more acts strutted into the room from one of the side access doors, wearing anxious yet excited expressions.

Harry quickly noted down in his head that the new ‘initiates’ were a man named Wagner for the _Over-25s_ , a shy-looking girl named Treyc for the _Girls,_ Paije for the _Boys_ and, shockingly, _Diva Fever_ for the _Groups._

The original acts placed before Cheryl’s eyes feigned enthusiasm (because, honestly, another four acts in an already dangerously competitive field wasn’t _exactly_ preferable) well enough that the judges – who had at some point entered the room – and the camera crews decided was alright enough to use as backup.

Once the camera were flicked off, Harry grabbed Zayn from his immediate left and yanked him closer, Zayn yelping in protest at the movement just as Niall and Liam slid from Louis’ immediate right to stand in front of them, Niall’s expression serious and Liam’s anxious as he bit as his lip.

“ _Diva Fever?”_ Zayn rasped, not bothering to keep his voice down, despite the group in question standing rather close, the surprise evident in the darker skinned boy’s tone. “Christ, were they really the only decent option? I swear _The Reason_ would’ve been better. Maybe even _Husstle.”_

“Maybe this show is turning into a casting mechanism for gay dance acts,” Louis suggested sarcastically, voice breaking a little for whatever reason, rolling his eyes and shoving Zayn’s shoulder and Harry froze, _really_ froze, taking a moment to process what Louis had just revealed – probably without even _meaning_ to – but he wasn’t quick enough to intervene before Louis continued. “Nah, I’m not surprised. They want at least some semblance of diversity, righ’? _Diva Fever’s_ flamboyancy definitely provides that and like, they haven’t had an act like them in a while, I don’t think. Simon probably wants to rip his hair out over the fact he had to choose them, though. He hates that shit.”

Louis broke off into dry laughter, and Harry and Liam shared a look, Harry’s eyes wide and anxious and Liam’s careful and contemplating.

“Are we just gonna brush past how Louis basically just insinuated that he knows what gay dance acts are like?” Niall teased with a faint grin, but it seemed heavy – like he was equally as confused as Harry and Liam as to what was clearly up with Louis. “Because that seems kinda sus to me.”

Zayn snorted and Liam shook his head with an affectionate smile as Harry tensed a little, not even noticing what he was doing as he gripped Louis’ shirt anxiously, his head pounding and ears ringing.

“Yes, Nialler,” Louis said with a blush on his cheeks, shaking himself out of Harry’s subconscious and tight grip, curling a little in on himself and averting his eyes, faint smile on his lips dropping away. “Yes, we’re gonna ignore that.” And then he was moving away towards where Cher and Katie were standing, and Harry’s stomach was writhing with something he couldn’t place.

He vaguely remembered something from Simon’s office when they’d had that meeting with the man himself, when they’d been talking about the fans - -

_“Anyway, of course, if the marketing for the band is done well when it comes to the dating side of everything, every girl, and boy - - “_

And Simon had pointedly looked at Louis.

Oh _shit._

That was why Louis was acting off. Because Simon had brought that _up_ in their meeting. Had to have been.

Harry didn’t know what that even meant. If Simon had just been speculating – which was fairly likely, considering he didn’t seem like the type to dig into everybody’s personal files to find that kind of information on people – his assumption could’ve been entirely, utterly incorrect, and his brain could’ve just been splicing coincidences altogether.

But - -

But.

Zayn and Liam seemed to melt away into the crowd of mingling contestants, probably following Louis’ path, acting oblivious (although, Harry seriously doubted they hadn’t put two-and-two together and aligned the coincidences) before Niall’s hand landed gently on his shoulder and startled Harry out of his little trance.

“You good?” The blonde murmured, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth along Harry’s shoulder comfortingly, eyes soft as he pressed his other hand underneath Harry’s chin and lifted his head so they could lock gazes.

Harry gulped nervously – _Christ,_ why did he feel so _strange? –_ before he folded into Niall’s chest, making himself feel and look _so, so_ small. Niall wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist wordlessly, Harry resting his head on Niall’s shoulder and exhaling heavily into the warm material of the Irish lad’s shirt.

“Taking that as a hesitant or confused no,” Niall mumbled and Harry got out a quiet _yes,_ not even really sure what he was responding to before closing his eyes and relaxing into his friend’s embrace, head spinning.

He needed to talk to Louis.

\--

After a few more minutes of mulling around and Louis being stuck in his own head, leaning against one of the support beams close to the back of the studio, words from the damn _meeting_ the day before just replaying over and over in his head on an endless loop ( _it’s bad for your image you’re not supposed to be so open about it artists like that never make it in life you have to learn how to hide it it’s bad for your image you’re not supposed to be so open about it artists like that never make it in life you have to learn how to hide it),_ Zayn slid over and told him in a hurried tone that they had been given _Viva La Vida_ to perform for the first show.

Which. Okay, yeah, it was good. It was enough to startle him out of his self-deprecating worldwide of emotions, for sure.

They could’ve been given a song by _SoulDecision_ or something, which would’ve resulted in a horrible path consisting of weird sunglasses, bad quality leather jackets and matching tank-tops and awful haircuts that would remain prominent, unfaded scars in their memories for the rest of their lives. Or some old 50’s song that Louis’ mother probably listened to when she felt nostalgic which - - well. That was fairly self-explanatory as to why it would’ve been an awful song for them to be given to perform.

But it was still _Viva La Vida._ Was still one of the biggest hits in the world. It was good, of course, because they were getting good songs, but it was also absolutely disastrous because _they were getting good songs_ that most likely couldn’t suffer from much variation without sounding like a Reject Shop supplied version of the original.

And Louis was barely present in the real world. So. There was _that_ little fact to consider, amongst his other worries.

Like the fact that Simon had forcefully suggested that he would be removed from the band if he couldn’t keep his _thing_ under control which. Sure. He could do if he tried hard enough, but he didn’t know _what_ he needed to control in the first place. His flamboyancy? His sarcasm? Or perhaps ignoring Simon’s rather biased and detrimental advice altogether was his best plan of action?

He didn’t _know._ And Simon hadn’t felt the need to enlighten him (it was pretty easy to say that the man would have eliminated Louis’ final option, the one he was coincidentally most fond of himself, but any sort of guidance – even from an old businessman focused on nothing except for profit – would’ve definitely helped Louis ease the swirling storm of violence and terror in his stomach).

What he _did_ know was that his desperation for an answer to his personal turmoil was going to affect his singing and concentration abilities. He had a feeling everybody else knew, too – if the way his fellow bandmates were continuously looking at him were anything to go by.

Especially the ones from Harry that seemed to pierce through every single layer of his body.

He wanted to call - - _needed_ to call his mother or Stan, needed one of them to help him through it and sketch out a plan of action like they’d first done when Louis’ _thing_ had been revealed to his entire cohort at school _(“Stick with the band kids,” Stan had suggested, having clutched Louis close and stroking a soft hand through the older boy’s soft hair as Louis had wiped the drying tear-tracks from his flushed cheeks. “You said they didn’t react badly, right? I say find the ones that are like you – or at least different in some manner.”_

_“But what if - - “_

_“No, little one,” his mother had cut in, eyes wide and smile soft on her face as her hand joined Stan’s in Louis’ hair, two grounding presences. “Listen to Stan. I have a feeling he’s right.”_

And he had been _)._

But, of course, Louis didn’t have time for that singular phone call that probably would’ve saved his sorry arse and the rest of his day.

He’d been right – his internal war with himself was affecting _everything._

In the rehearsing studio, the next humongous room over from the main studio they’d been in when the Wild Card acts had been revealed, nothing seemed to be clicking – nothing _at all._ Not like everything had seemed to click in the bungalow even if they physically tried not to make it like that, not like how when they wanted to, they could harmonise any old collection of words and turn it into a fun little game to play when they were bored out of their minds like the teenage boys they were.

“Louis, you need to have more confidence in your voice,” Savan, their new vocal coach (employed by Simon, of course), advised in a disapproving tone, hitting pause of the CD once more and surveying the group of shaky and anxious boys closely, eyes flickering between them all like one of those nasty chemistry teachers from Louis’ school back in Doncaster. “Cutting out half-way through your part isn’t going to do anyone any good, I can promise you that. You have an awesome voice, I know that for sure, so _use it.”_ He accentuated his point with clicks of his fingers at _use it_ and Louis had to viciously fight back the urge to shout at Savan that _well, you’re not the one who may have to be forcefully closeted if we win this stupid competition, you absolute fuckwit._

“Zayn and Niall, your timing is _still_ off when you’re coming in in sync, and Niall, you’re sounding ugly and flat with those backing vocals that you recede into after the initial beginning. Your voice is so unique and cool that it’s absolutely _crucial_ we work through that. Liam, you don’t have any consistency in your volume whatsoever and sometimes fade back so far I can’t hear you and other times manage to overpower _Louis_ by some unnatural ability that nobody should possess.” It was framed like a teasing joke, but Christ, Louis was _not_ in the mood for it, and from what he could observe, neither was Liam.

Savan continued his derogatory spiel without hesitation, bringing his chin up higher and clenching his jaw momentarily. “It’s good to variate volume when suitable, but I noticed that even back at Judges’ Houses that you struggle seeing the right time to do so. Always feel free to come and speak with me if you have questions regarding that. And Harry - - “ He paused to look directly at the curly-headed boy who was pressed into Liam’s side, licking his lips nervously as he waited for Savan’s words. “Maybe try not looking at Louis for a minute or two and maybe you won’t be a beat and a half behind everyone else.”

Louis had to look away from Harry at that.

“C’mon boys,” Savan said, tone a little softer this time, like he knew his harshness with them wasn’t rubbing off well in any manner. “Once more.”

So, they started over. It didn’t matter that Savan had grilled them for their previously failed attempts and it didn’t matter that they were _trying_ to fix it – it wasn’t _working._ Louis’ mind kept on drifting away from him, the loose threads in his head escaping his frantic grasp and making him cut off half-way through his part and fight off the desperate urge to have a meltdown right then and there. Him cutting off messed up Niall’s timing again, backing vocals out of sync with Zayn’s part (which, miraculously, _was_ in time at this point, but wasn’t synced with Niall’s as nicely as it was supposed to, for obvious reasons) and Liam still was having trouble fixing the fluctuations in his volume.

And Harry - - well. Louis didn’t need to look to see that Harry was already stealing glances at him, screwing up his own timing because he always seemed to look at Louis _just_ as he gave up and let his voice fade away.

Savan didn’t even bother running through the whole thing, instead flicking off the music after Louis cut himself off and withdrawing the CD from the player with a weighted sigh from his diaphragm. He passed the CD delicately to Zayn, who was closest, and looked them over once more with a gaze swirling with a mix of emotions that Louis didn’t need to place in order to read how their vocal coach was feeling.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Savan told them dismissively, waving his hand at them like it was a weapon waiting to be put into good use. “Go back to the _House_ and _practice._ We only have four days left until your performance and the last day is already eliminated because you’re filming the first week of those video diaries Simon mentioned instead.”

Oh. Right. _Another_ load of stress to add to Louis’ brain. He’d completely forgotten about the video diary idea that he’d presented towards Simon at the end of their meeting and having been reminded of it after such a disappointing vocal session was not exactly _preferable,_ even if it had been his own idea. He’d informed the boys of the idea, and Liam had informed Savan, who’d pursed his lips in irritation at the loss of another day of perfecting their voices (which, in all honesty, could probably use some major reworking for _Viva La Vida_ alone).

He shooed them from the studio without another word, and Louis could feel his confidence crumbling.

\--

“It can’t’ve just been us today that he wasn’t happy with,” Niall reasoned through a shrug, clinging to Zayn’s back like a koala, bleached blonde hair all sweaty and matted and hanging in his face. “I mean, seriously, maybe he’s harsh on everyone?”

“Just shut up, Niall,” Louis muttered, a shaking fist clenched in the back of Liam’s shirt and his other looped around Harry’s neck, pulling him in close. “Just shut up.”

“I’m just sayin’ - - “

“Can we not, right now?” Liam asked in a soft voice, tugging Louis – and in doing that, tugging Harry – closer to his warm body, using his free hand to swipe his hair back into place. “Let’s just - - let’s just think about what happened, righ’? Process it healthily and regroup tomorrow to make changes and perfect things. It’s a simple and effective strategy.”

Apparently, Niall was incorrect in his reasoning. Louis wasn’t surprised in the slightest, but it didn’t help at all when it came to easing his nerves and his pounding heartbeat.

Harry was rigid by his side as they entered the _House_ once more, pale and lanky and stumbling over his own feet, using Louis’ shoulder to rebalance himself, Liam having broken off with Zayn to grab some of the dinner Cher and Katie had conjoinedly created – boxed Mac N’ Cheese from the USA – Niall drifting away and beginning to chat animatedly with Matt, whom the blonde had formed a blossoming friendship with in the short time of knowing each other. Louis tried to watch on fondly, failing horrendously (as Harry kindly let him know, nudging him and muttering to stop glaring), so he just dragged Harry over to the kitchen bench with him and slumped down into one of the chairs, heaving a melodramatic sigh just as Harry crawled into his lap, silent once more and stiff. Louis snatched Esther’s plate from under her nose, the girl snorting before passing him her spoon wordlessly, allowing Louis to take a few careful bites before passing her back the bowl.

“Thanks,” he murmured, Harry making a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat and looping his arms around the back of Louis’ neck.

“Any time,” Esther responded, pausing to knock back whatever liquid was in the lined up shot glasses beside her (to Louis it looked like some sort of cruiser, but he couldn’t be sure), before she set the glass back down and watched him through contemplative eyes.

“Rough day?” She questioned gently, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, leaning far enough to the side so he could rest his head on her shoulder lightly without disturbing Harry from his spot in the elder of the two’s lap. “You could say that.”

Whatever Esther looked like she was going to say next was drowned out by a loud voice from across the bench, but she didn’t move Louis’ head from her shoulder and began using the spoon with the opposite hand to where he was leaning.

“Savan was like, really happy with how we did today,” one of the _Diva Fever_ members – Louis theorised it was Craig, but he couldn’t be sure, his mind a raging tidal wave of emotions he was trying to process without having a complete meltdown – bragged, spooning a mouthful of Mac ‘N Cheese between his parted lips and hastily swallowing so he could continue. “He was hyped because he reckons if we do that well again, we’ll get a tonne of attention for it. It’s kind of incredible to have that type of unveiled support from your vocal coach, y’know?”

“He liked my song choice, too,” Rebecca chimed in timidly, voice soft as she smiled, on the floor with her back against the side of the kitchen island, knees drawn tightly to her chest. She looked as though she’d just swapped another funny studio story with Aidan, who was star-fished out on the floor in front of her, looking a little more than a little high. Louis raised a judgemental eyebrow at his friend who just flipped him the bird before letting his arm flop back down over his eyes, twisting his neck to crack it.

Louis didn’t really think it was fair as Harry cuddled closer to him in his lap, the younger making a weak, defeated noise in the back of his throat. How was it fair that all of the people around them, Katie and Cher singing and bouncing around with the _Belle Amie_ girls in the living space, everybody else shoving down their dinner while exchanging stupid stories of their rehearsal time, had had such a great day, while the boys had floundered around, confused and lost in their own vocals?

It wasn’t fair.

And Louis figured it was his fault.

\--

The boys really did seem to be the only people of the _X-Factor_ to be worrying over anything at all.

Back at _Fountain Studios_ in Simon Cowell’s looming and intense office, with all of the colours that shouldn’t have worked well together and the huge flat-screen TV perched on the wall, _Modest! Management_ employees were sprawled across the room, considerably thick files of paperwork stacked on the desk in front of Simon’s scrutinising gaze as he flicked through the pages, scanning the words like his life depended on it.

“So, what do the lawyers say?” Simon asked in an even tone, flicking through one of the larger stapled piles of paper, squinting to read the words without his glasses on, which were sitting in one of the abnormally large desk drawers. “Is it all cleared? I’m assuming so, since you’re here in the first place.”

Anne-Marie Thomson leaned forward in one of the leather chairs in front of Simon’s desk, two fellow _Modest!_ executives in the chairs on either side of her – Lear and Marlene, two of Anne-Marie’s most intense and committed staff members. Her left leg was crossed neatly over her right one, newly fitted navy suit still stiff from not being worn in enough.

This wasn’t a new experience for her, nor was it new for Simon and the rest of their team in circulating the room. They’d all been in these meetings often enough to know the general direction in which they went (they usually finished with little to no progress, denied contracts and future legal scandals if they didn’t get rid of the documents as fast as possible, but it was fine. It was _fine),_ but the lawyers this time around seemed fairly certain that this attempt at having a functional legal contact that still favoured _Modest!_ would be successful.

She could see a little flicker of hope – a rarity, if she were honest – in Simon’s eyes that confirmed she’d been right in seeking out newer legal assistance.

“All of it,” she confirmed, nodding and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Well, not the record deal yet, because we haven’t received any official offers regarding that, and most likely won’t until they truly begin to earn some traction on the internet. I’m sure with the Judges’ Houses episode being aired tonight that it won’t take long for heads to turn in our - - in _their_ direction.”

Simon was nodding along, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed as he turned it over in his mind. “Okay,” he started evenly, voice trained to be bland yet somehow intimidating. Anne-Marie nudged Marlene pointedly when she felt her fellow executive’s arm stiffen on the side of the chair, not bothering to shoot one of her _stop it_ glares because it was implied so heavily that someone coughed from the other side of the room and she had to force herself to relax.

“Okay, so, what _is_ confirmed?”

“All of the management processes,” Anne-Marie told him firmly, reaching out to the desk and pulling one of the insanely thick piles of documents to her and tapping the top. “Everything in here is correct, legal and functional. We won’t have any mishaps this time, and it’s a deal they won’t be able to refuse if your plan with the voting works just as plotted and we collaborate effectively with whichever label gets in first.”

“It’ll work,” Simon intervened sharply, almost like he was offended by her lack of faith in him (really, could he blame her? His past plans for similar contestant results hadn’t exactly been satisfactory, and he knew that plenty). “We still have those draft record label contracts we can present to the quickest buyer so we don’t waste time, and we can make adjustments to those if deemed necessary by either party.”

He seemed to read her slight uncertainty in her eyes and if she were any weaker of a person, she probably would have stiffened and looked away.

But she didn’t. It was plain to see why Simon employed her, after all.

She caught all of the little movements in her peripherals as her ‘closest’ assistants milled about, flicking through their own extensive copies of the contracts, all of the details that would lead to _success_ and _money._ She could already see the faint signs of excitement in each person’s facial expressions, little twitches up of the sides of their lips or their eyebrows raised or their gazes glimmering with something dangerous and untamed.

Lear and Marlene were rigid beside her, untrained and unprepared for the scrutiny from Simon, eyes flickering all over the room except for at the man, who was likely ignoring their entire existence (as standard. Lear and Marlene weren’t really Simon’s responsibility, after all, they were Anne-Marie’s, but they didn’t necessarily _know_ that explicitly).

Anne-Marie was honestly quite glad that she didn’t hold the same tasks as Simon did. She may have prided herself on her work ethic and ability to be harsh when it was necessary (really, those five nuisances for teenagers that Simon had gone ahead and selected had _no_ idea what she and her team were capable of when it came to containment) but that didn’t mean she’d be able to carry the entire fate of – possibly – three interlaced companies with _one act._ She just had to manage them, make sure they didn’t step a single toe out of line, that line of work.

They had the world’s next biggest sensation on their hands. They couldn’t, _couldn’t_ let it slip out of their grasp, not when it was all _right there_ for them to take, all raw and unknowing and oblivious and _ready_. And Simon had known immediately she and her crew would be the perfect to use.

“They’ll be voted out third,” Simon informed her coldly, arms folded on his desk as he pushed the paperwork to the side, scratching at his faint facial hair. “We’re keeping a close eye on them up until that point and past, considering - - “

“Considering the situation with Mister Tomlinson and possibly Mister Styles,” Lear cut in from Anne-Marie’s side, finally having decided to jump into the conversation. “We received your email. We’ve been collaboratively organising with some of our staff and executives to stick close to the group. To keep them under control, so to speak. We’ve drafted out an entire action plan, carefully structured and planned, that covers any possible situation. Also as you suggested.”

“I’m glad you’ve gotten that all sorted. Well, as I was saying, they’ll be voted out third, and we’ll give them no option other than to sign this contract we’ve had prepared alongside the record deal. We won’t allow any others to slip in first. We won’t let them gain any information from the outside world of how desirable they really, _really_ are. We won’t give them access to any record label sites or management details because they’re smart enough to know we’ll be ripping them off. Understood?”

“Very clearly, sir. Thank you,” Anne-Marie said with a nod, biting at her lip as she turned to nod at her team spread out precariously around the room. “We’ll be leaving now. Would you like me to forward you our draft of - - well, of everything?”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Thomson.”

\--

“I thought…” Harry whispered to Louis sometime later, when most of the other contestants had filtered back into their own rooms with murmured _goodnights_ and _don’t stay up too late_ s – a lot of the latter aimed at the five boys who couldn’t stop brooding and glowering over what had occurred in the studio. Liam had grabbed the CD and stuffed it into Zayn’s player for later use for when they eventually felt motivated enough to fix everything that had gone wrong.

Harry and Louis were curled up on the sofa in the main living space, Louis having snatched the remote from the arm of the sofa before they had begun flicking aimlessly through the usual boring channels and ending up back where they’d started – watching _Friends_ and Louis quoting the good and iconic parts that always made Harry laugh, even when he felt inconsolable – just like then.

Louis had turned down the volume on the television so he could pay attention to Harry’s murmured sentences and, really, Harry’s heart ached a little at how Louis’ was concentrating so hard on what he was saying so he didn’t miss a moment, always giving Harry his undivided attention - -

But it was whatever. Entirely whatever. It had to be. _It had to be._

Harry had no idea how he’d handle it if it were more.

“I thought we’d be, y’know, at least okay,” he admitted, voice breaking as Louis tugged him closer. They were cuddled together, Harry’s back pressed to Louis’ front, the younger’s knees tucked up just enough for Louis to curl around him like an overprotective cat. They were wearing worn in pyjamas, Harry just in some old and loose black boxers _(“Christ, Hazza, these really show off your bum. It’s very sexy.” “Hush Lewis, I know you love my bum. You don’t need to tell me.” “Get a room!” “Sorry that you can’t handle our flirtatious behaviour, Niall.” “Nah mate, I just don’ have an exhibitionist or voyeur kink.”)_ and an oversized, torn graphic tee that he thought must’ve actually been Liam’s, going off the vague scent of his friend’s cologne still lingering on the fabric. Louis was in grey sweats and shirtless, skin soft and warm against Harry’s clothed back and making the younger relax even more against Louis _(“And you say I’m hot. You have literal abs, Lou. Literal. Abs. So hot.” “Naw, stop it, Harold. You’re making me blush.” “Yes, please stop it Harold for the wellbeing of my ears.” “I’ll dropkick you, Niall.”_

 _It didn’t mean anything. The banter couldn’t mean a single thing. It couldn’t possibly. Right?)_.

“But like - - we weren’t. We weren’t okay. And that kinda just, y’know, screwed with my brain.” Harry tugged his bottom lip between his teeth anxiously and reached back to play with a loose thread on the thigh of Louis’ sweats – a grounding technique – the fiddling – Katelyn had taught him when they were younger and Harry hadn’t really learned how to cope with his anxiety yet.

_“Here,” Katelyn said in a soft voice, ripping a long strand of stray thread from her sweats and passing it to Harry, who eyed it with wide and frightful eyes, his breathing still edging on erratic and heart beating with anxiety. “Take this. Fiddle with it.”_

_“Why?”_

_“It helps me focus sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed or can’t, like, think properly. Just twirl it in and out of your fingers, like this.”_

Louis hummed, running soft hands through Harry’s hair, gently untangling the rogue curls and twisting them into things that were supposed to vaguely resemble braids but probably didn’t, thanks to the knottiness that were his friend’s slightly-damp-with-sweat curls. It also probably related to the fact that Louis’ brain seemed to be short-circuiting, just going back and forth between his original worries _(you have to learn how to hide it you can’t be like that I’m sorry but you don’t understand the severity of your condition)_ and the absolute horror that had been the practice only a few hours prior.

“We’ll figure it out,” he reassured softly, fingers accidentally catching on a rather intense knot in his friend’s hair, making Harry whimper and jolt in his place. Louis attempted valiantly to ignore the kick his heart gave in his chest and the spark of heat in his abdomen, just gently petting through the knot until it wasn’t there anymore. “I know we will. We always do.”

“But what if we don’t?” Harry fretted, words slurring together a fraction as he continued to speak through an exhausted yawn, his head wracking with a violent headache and a little fuzzy from the lingering sting in his scalp. “What if we don’t, and Zayn and Niall can’t sync up and you don’t get confident enough and then _I_ lose confidence and Liam can’t keep his volume - - “

“Hey,” Louis interrupted sharply, tugging Harry’s curls a little too harshly to be an accident in order to get him to stop talking. It worked, to say the least (and Harry flushed a pretty pink colour, which Louis _also_ tried desperately to ignore, for his own sake because _Christ,_ that colour on Harry was absolutely breathtaking). “Hey, just stop. Stop worrying. I - - I promise it’ll be okay. I just had a lot on my mind today and I kept on messing everything up. S’okay. We’ll get through it.” He paused to take a deep breath in before continuing his ramblings, swallowing down the lump in his throat, pretending not to hear Harry’s protested _it’s not your fault_ because Louis _knew_ it was and Harry didn’t seem to (or perhaps he was just biased).

“And like, even if we do mess up, we’ll still be okay. We’re nowhere near the worst acts here and, if anything Simon said in that group meeting was true, we’re his only option. He could probably tamper with the votes if need be to keep us in the competition. Mark my words.”

Harry snorted out a weak little, “Hey, I’m sure he’s a fair player - - “

“That’s bullshit, Styles, and you _know_ it - - “

Harry’s next half-arsed retort was interrupted roughly by Aidan’s stumbled entrance into the living room, and smacking face first into the nearest wall. Harry jerked again in his place and Louis peered over the back of the sofa to judgementally look at his friend.

“You good there, mate?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

Aidan rubbed a rough and calloused hand over his face before he went to respond to Louis, pausing in his line of speech as he took in Harry curled into Louis’ front, all peaceful and serene looking. His eyes darted over their tangled limbs and Harry’s hand on Louis’ thigh through the sweats before he grinned and backed out of the room, waving his hands like he was in a melodrama performance, all dramatic and unsmooth, uttering his _deepest apologies_ for disrupting their _couple fun time._

“I’ll put rotten eggs in your socks again!” Louis called out behind their friend and Aidan’s response of a cackle was probably heard all the way down in the studio, noise echoing down the hallways.

“He’s a strange specimen,” Harry commented mildly, voice a bit stronger now as he ran a hand through his curls in a useless attempt to get them under control.

“To be fair,” Niall started around a mouthful of the leftover Mac ‘N Cheese as he walked past the gaping archway that led to the living space. “Not everyone in this buildin’ s’used to seein’ two people o’ the same gender cuddled up on the couch li’e they just fucked senseless.” He broke off, pausing mid-stride and frowning as he considered his words, and Louis saw the signs in Niall’s low-sweeping blonde hair and duller eyes that his friend was slightly intoxicated. “Not that, li’e, it being two people of the same gender is wrong… I messed tha’ wordin’ up, ‘m sorry. ‘M so sorry. ‘M not homophobic. Tha’ shit’s nasty. I wanna go to pride this year. I think I already told ya that. But hey! At leas’ Hazza has clothes on this time.”

Louis snorted, shooting his friend an affectionate nod as the blonde stumbled out of view, unaware that his sentence structure hadn’t really been proper. He felt Harry shake with laughter against his tanned front and called after their bandmate, “S’okay, Niall. Go to bed. We’re rehearsing in the mornin’. Zayn’ll wake you up.”

Niall officially sauntered off, muttering out something unintelligible, steps loud in the otherwise quite _House_ as he climbed the stairs to the bunks, Louis twisted back around and tapped Harry on the shoulder, saying in a faux offended voice with a complimentary pout, “When were you not wearin’ clothes today? I don’ remember it.”

“Breakfast,” shrugged Harry, pushing his head back into Louis’ hand and practically purring in delight as the elder of the two resumed his methodical stroking through the younger’s curls, sharp nails scratching ever so slightly at his sensitive scalp again, making Harry shudder. “I had a shirt on, though.”

“Oh, right. That’s just the typical living-with-Harry Styles wake-up call, then, minus the shirt,” Louis teased, continuing with his abandoned braid that had been hanging precariously near Harry’s earlobe, the hair brushing against the skin ticklishly. “I thought it would be a more scandalous or revealing story than that. Like if you went out into the streets naked and flashed a bunch of passing folks.”

“You were there,” Harry got out through a cracking voice, still shivering a little from the satisfaction of Louis stroking through his curls (he’d always had a thing for people playing with his hair like that, sue him). “You sat on me.” He went to add another thing, but Louis cut in again with an enthusiastic, “I remember now! You had tha’ scratchy blanket on. Didn’t like sitting on that.”

Harry laughed, but the supposed-to-be relaxed sound was drawn and weak. “Shouldn’ta sat in my lap, then.”

“Your lap is comfortable!”

“Then deal with the scratchy blanket. At least these boxers are nice.”

“There’s a slight difference between me sitting on your lap and your arse being in me face, thank you very much, _Harold.”_

“It is _not_ in your face, _Lewis.”_

Louis left the braid dangling against Harry’s ear again in favour of smacking his cheek lightly, making Harry snort in retaliation and reach back to try and hit Louis himself in the face. He failed miserably, missing Louis’ body completely the material of his shirt riding up far enough to expose his soft skin on his hips, his cute little love-handles Louis was absolutely _obsessed with_ (and Harry knew that, couldn’t have missed the way Louis always squeezed them because he knew Harry didn’t like them as much, but it made the curly-headed boy a little happier to know that someone loved the parts of himself he didn’t love as much) _,_ up his gradually-toning torso to reveal - -

“Wait, Hazza, is tha’ a tattoo?”

Harry squirmed in Louis’ grip, moving a hand to pull his shirt down and cover the fading lines of pen decorating his lower abdomen and muttering out a little, “No. S’just - - s’just a concept of one I wanna get, erm, one day. Nothin’ - - nothin’ too cool, y’know? S’not real.”

His fingers cautiously, delicately, wrapped around the lip of the shirt and began to pull it down before Louis snatched his hand into his own grip and squeezed with a soft scolding of, “Stop that. I wanna see it.”

The elder of the two carefully moved their interlaced hands up, resting them on Harry’s chest with a reverence that was usually reserved for glass finery. 

It was absolutely fascinating and enthralling, almost like Louis was slowly unveiling an entirely new part of Harry that he hadn’t ever really pictured, that he hadn’t ever really imagined was part of this honest and open and pretty _boy_ pressed warmly to his chest like it was his second home.

Every movement Louis made was careful, unsure, made with insecurity and unknowingness over how Harry would react to the brush of skin on skin - - how he’d react to _Louis’ skin on his own._ So it was with something like hesitance or fear that the elder of the two boys cuddled on the couch gently moved his other hand down to the lip of Harry’s shirt, fingers soft and ticklish against Harry’s pale skin, setting goose-bumps rising along it as the younger flushed pink in the cheeks and squirmed again.

“Lou,” he complained softly, but Louis could tell he didn’t really mean it. “Stop that. S’ticklish.”

In all honesty, Louis was hardly listening as he slowly drew Harry’s shirt up just enough to expose the whole design draft. The black edges of the pen were dark in the low light, almost shiny and plainly stark against Harry’s classically pale British skin. Harry was motionless, seeming like he wasn’t even breathing as Louis stroked a delicate finger, followed quickly by another, over the absolutely beautiful and breathtaking and _so, entirely_ fitting and perfect sketch of a butterfly on his friend’s abdomen.

"Erm,” Harry got out, but he didn’t really know what to say, instead opting to cuddle closer to Louis as his friend slowly traced the fading lines once more before Harry’s hips twitched incrementally at the ticklish sensation on his sensitive skin. Louis tutted affectionately and Harry could almost sense his little smile as he pinched the inside of his own elbow with the hand Louis wasn’t clasping before smacking his friend’s hand away from his stomach and pulling the shirt back down.

“Stop it,” he giggled, completely relaxed and pliant and soft in Louis’ arms. “S’enough.”

Louis wasn’t giggling, though, which surprised Harry. He wasn’t saying anything, instead watching their intertwined hands with fond and wide eyes. “How many people have, y’know, seen that?” He asked quietly, almost timidly. “Or like, how many have you told? It’s really beautiful, Haz. I love it.”

Harry felt his body flush hot and cold at the words as he whispered out a harsh, “No one except you.”

 _Jesus,_ how was Louis supposed to react to _that?_

“My best-friend from home gave me the idea but, erm, she doesn’t know I want it. Because I do. I really do. I drew it yesterday ‘cause I wanted to see it.” Harry paused to inhale a little, hips shifting again and his breath hitching in his chest as Louis tugged him closer, _harder_ against the elder of the two’s chest, hands still linked together.

“You like it?” He added softly after a few moments of silence.

He didn’t need to look at Louis to picture the elegant smile on his friend’s lips. “Yeah,” he eventually responded. “Yeah Hazza. I really love it. I think it suits you. Pretty, important and smart. Just like you.”

Harry hummed out a happy, “Just like me,” as Louis’ hand detached from his and both of the older boy’s hands were back in the green-eyed boy’s hair, stroking gently, calmingly because really, the tight panic in Harry’s chest may as well have been printed on his forehead with how obvious it was despite their break away from the topic that had sparked his anxiety in the first place.

"'ve always wanted tattoos," Harry admitted quietly, shifting again and sinking a little further into Louis and the sofa itself. Louis couldn’t bring himself to answer, a passive listener, but he couldn’t control it as his toes curled against Harry’s shins. "Loads of them. They’re just so - - they’re so cool. And you get to control them, y’know? So I can write my story on my skin and no one can stop me. Because it’s my choice. And they won’t even know what they mean to me unless I tell them.” Harry was rambling now, but Louis was like a fish on a hook. Completely, utterly defenceless when it came to this perfect _boy_ there on the sofa with him, all sharp angles and soft skin and the kindest heart.

He was expecting Harry to continue, but the two of them basked in the silence as Louis finished off a braid and moved on to start another. It was a little different from braiding Lottie or Fizzy’s hair for them back home in Doncaster, thanks to the rather magnificent hair length difference, but he didn’t particularly mind. It was good practice (and it was an excuse to touch Harry, so).

“What happened in that meetin’, Lou?” Harry asked after a few more moments, voice quite and breaking and so, _so_ attractive that Louis thought he could play it on repeat for the rest of his life if it wasn’t _those fucking words._

“Nothin’, Haz,” he murmured gently, reassuringly. “Nothin’.”

“You’ve been actin’ off all day,” the younger protested stubbornly, shifting in his spot again. “Don’ tell me nothin’ happened because I _know_ something did.”

Louis was rendered speechless.

Fuck.

He wasn’t _ready._

God bless Harry, seriously, because he _knew_ immediately that Louis didn’t know how to answer – wasn’t _comfortable_ with answering, and he didn’t take it personally.

“Will you trust me with it one day?” Harry whispered. Almost like he was scared.

Another small pause, before:

“I’ve never really thought ‘bout gettin’ any tattoos,” Louis told Harry quietly and it sounded off topic but damnit it _wasn’t_ , Louis licking his lips and furrowing his brow as he concentrated on the steadily forming second braid. “I don’ know, I guess I just never thought I’d need them. You make a good point though, with the poetic storytelling thing you mentioned. Might’ve just convinced me to get a tat, Styles. I - - I don’ think it’s a trust issue here. I trust you - - I trust you more than I trust anyone else. ‘M just - - ‘m just nervous. Not ready to share what happened, y’know?”

Harry reached back and caressed Louis’ thigh through his sweats again, hand dainty and delicate, and Louis knew his heart was racing in his chest like a horse. “S’okay, Lou,” Harry told him firmly, the sensation of his fingers on Louis’ skin through the sweats driving the latter insane. “I trust you more than anyone else, too. Just - - don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, Haz. Promise.”

There was a minute or so of silence only accompanied by the sound coming from the television’s speakers before Louis’ brain was suddenly being overloaded with a deep realisation, pausing his braiding to pull his phone from his pocket, Harry making a little sound of displeasure that Louis hushed with a rather aggressive flap of his hand in the air. He swiped through the phone and opened Twitter almost frantically, devilish grin on his face that Harry didn’t need to see to know it was there.

“Wassup?” Harry slurred around a yawn.

“Judges’ Houses final episode part aired tonight,” Louis explained, still grinning as he clicked on _New Tweet_ and began typing like his life depended on it.

Before they’d left that ridiculously over-the-top mansion-slash-villa in Marbella, Spain, all five of the boys had been forced into signing incredibly thick NDAs _(“Nondisclosure stuff,” Zayn had explained in a tight whisper to Niall, who’d eyed the documents with suspicion. “Common things in the industry. Basically just means we can’t say anything about what happened here until it’s publicly released by the company. Easy stuff, Nialler. No need to fret.”)_ and contracts, solidifying _(“Binding,” Louis had insisted a little bitterly, never a liker of control, no matter if it concerned he and the boys’ success or not_ , _something all of them understood)_ that they’d remain in the competition as a group – as _One Direction._ The contracts were mostly competition centred – them agreeing to practice with Simon’s approved and staffed vocal coaches and that they’d go along with any changes he – or others in positions of power akin to his – believed would benefit them as individuals alongside them as a band.

Louis’ least favourite thing about signing those contracts had been the intense monitoring of their social media platforms – namely, Twitter. They’d had to go methodically through each of their profiles with some less-than-socially-pleasant members of Simon’s team and delete anything the managers saw as unfit and been required to change their Twitter bio and/or handle to relate to the band in some way or another as soon as the bootcamp episode parts had been aired to the nation (which, yeah, Louis really liked the second point – that he was finally able to _do_ that, but having to have such a filtered social media feed wasn’t exactly his favourite cup of tea).

_“I swear, it would just be easier for me to get a new account,” Louis had insisted, grumbling a little as he and the boys had been sat down in one of the less-than-pleasant bare offices on the second floor of the Marbella mansion – the workplace floor, Liam had nicknamed it, grimacing as he’d done so. “I could turn this one into my personal or private one and have a new one for the band. Simple.”_

_“No,” the assistant he’d been partnered with – Helen, her nametag read – told him, voice nasally and unpleasant to his ears. “This what you’ve been instructed to do. You signed off on this when you signed off on those contracts. Now, open your Twitter so we can get this whole process over and done with as soon as possible. You’re not the only one who believes they have better things to be wasting their time on than clearing an impossible-to-clean Twitter feed.”_

Louis had been so, _so_ tempted to hit her, tell her to fuck off, _anything_ to piss her off enough to get her to _actually piss off,_ but he’d received one sharp look from Zayn and another from the _Modest!_ staff member partnered with Harry – this one called Lear, apparently, a rather odd name in Louis’ own opinion – across the room and he’d gritted his teeth and opened his Twitter.

But. _But._

Their forced silence, _bound silence by law,_ was finally over, and Louis could fuck up his feed once more (if only to spite Helen and by extension Simon because, really, he _knew_ it would work).

He was petty and excited. Sue him.

Harry smiled weakly around another quiet and half-suppressed yawn, pulling Louis’ hand holding the phone over his shoulder so Harry could read a few of the congratulations tweets from various people and even respond to some. Louis, ever the perceptive one, could see the tense ridges of his friend’s shoulders, the way his jaw was working, and he flicked off his phone and pulled Harry in close, pressing his cheek to the back of the green-eyed boy’s neck.

“Seriously, Curly,” he started warmly, flicking Harry’s nose, making him giggle. “We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re staying past the first night, I guarantee it. Jus’ - - jus’ trust me, okay? We’ll get through this little rough patch.”

“I hope so,” Harry murmured, voice small.

“I know so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTES!  
> \- I obviously don't know exactly what happened in the meetings with Simon that the boys would have had to have during this time period, so I tried to make it as accurate as I could with the information that we have on such situations.  
> \- sex room comments... hmm ;)  
> \- I wanted to delve into Harry's more 'feminine' side pretty early on, considering he's so expressive now and just wasn't allowed to be that when he was first starting out in his career. Alongside that point, Louis' little obsession with eyeshadow stems directly from me manifesting a photoshoot with him wearing sparkly eyeshadow. I don't really know why I love the concept as much as I do, but oh well.  
> \- HARRY IN SILK HARRY IN SILK HARRY IN SILK  
> \- I think, in the beginning, the boys always held a lot of respect for Simon, especially considering the fact he gave them their careers. Obviously the amount of respect declined the more questionable Simon's actions became, but I do believe that at the start they almost admired him - if only for his fame and power.  
> \- it's the sexual tension for me  
> \- I actually had a look at a fic a little bit ago where Louis and Aidan were best-friends, and I admittedly wanting to replicate that in this because I think they'd have such an interesting dynamic.  
> \- Harry's butterfly tattoo obviously means a lot to him, so I decided to make it a part of the plot a little earlier than it actually appeared during the 1D timeline.


	3. 2nd of October 2010 - 5th of October 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But that wasn’t the end,” he continued, voice softening again as he stroked over Harry’s skin so reverently that it could’ve been seriously questionable. “I was so scared it was going to be over because, y’know, we were all separate auditionees, you can’t exactly expect miracles out of that by throwing us all together and hoping that we can scrape through the next round of the competition.”
> 
> He paused, and blue met green.

_(2 nd of October)_

Liam woke Louis up at some horrendous hour in the morning.

It wasn’t like his friend had shaken him awake, or anything. He’d just crashed into the doorway to the boys’ shared bunk room and whisper-shouted Louis’ name like a drunk trying to find their friends in a club.

Louis sat up in bed, eyebrows raised and eyes wide after he rubbed the sleep from them as he took in Liam’s figure silhouetted where he was leaning against the wooden door, the rest of the room completely empty. It made Louis laugh a little, seeing how creepy Liam looked as just a shadowed being standing completely still, watching the singular sleeping figure remaining in the old room.

“Well, are you gonna come in instead o’ _l_ ookin’ like a weirdo? It’s very dehumanizing. ‘Specially since I jus’ woke up. S’too early for this.”

Liam, to Louis’ surprise, didn’t laugh. He just moved away from the door towards Louis’ bunk, jumping up and twisting so he landed on his arse on the end (which so happened to be above Harry’s, the curly-headed boy nowhere to be seen in the room, but judging from the clattering of cutlery and plates coming from the downstairs kitchen area, Louis could make a fairly accurate assumption as to where he was).

It was taking a lot of Louis’ willpower – an insane amount, if he was completely honest – to refrain from berating Liam on his choice of clothing. He was wearing a buttoned-up flannel shirt (which was hideous), some old khaki pants and woolly grey socks that made it seem like it was below freezing (which it definitely wasn’t, unless Louis was some kind of freak with insane body heat because seriously, he may have been curled up beneath a mountain of blankets, but it was pretty easy to tell that it wasn’t too chilly and the socks were a bit overkill).

Liam was fiddling with his fingers in his lap, ankles crossed where his legs hung over the lip of the bunk bed, refusing to look at Louis.

Louis couldn’t help but be _a little confused._

He heaved a frustrated sigh and said, “Oh c’mon man, jus’ spi’ it ou’.”

The brown-haired boy hesitated, looking up with wide eyes and scanning Louis’ face. To anyone who would have walked into the room, it wasn’t really difficult in any manner to see that the eldest of the two boys left in the room wasn’t exactly annoyed, so to speak, but didn’t reserve much patience for anything, at all. Of course, that wasn’t old news. One of the reasons he was so Louis was because he couldn’t bear to sit still for longer than a minute without talking or yelling or just generally socialising.

Louis supposed that was why he and Liam had absolutely despised each other at the start. Where Liam was something akin to the soothing presence of rippling lake water – cool, calm, collected, easy to talk to, usually keeping to himself, Louis was like a damn bonfire. Explosive, melodramatic, manic, loud, spontaneous – things Liam wasn’t accustomed to, wasn’t used to experiencing in his day to day life.

“You have to promise not to get too defensive or mad,” Liam eventually murmured, thankful for Louis giving him enough time to arrange his thoughts into an effective argument. Because, undoubtedly, that was what this conversation was going to turn into. Louis could see it in Liam’s eyes – the look of a man ready to debate. It sounded funny, but Louis knew it wasn’t.

Louis nodded, a kind smile on his face. “Yeah Li, I can do tha’. Promise.”

Liam heaved a relieved sigh and somehow summoned the strength to return the smile. He was drained – Louis could clearly see it. If the black bags under the younger boy’s eyes weren’t enough indication of his lack of rest, the slumping body language would’ve been enough to communicate it.

Maybe it was homesickness. Louis wouldn’t be surprised. He’d cuddled with Liam enough over the past few weeks to know that it only took a mere mention of his family for the boy to start tearing up and need fiercely protective coddling (courtesy of Louis, as always, while the other boys set up a movie night and dove into a group cuddle session with the other two). It was plain to see that Liam was likely to have the strongest bond with his family out of all the boys, except for maybe Louis himself. Louis didn’t ask him too much about it, not unless Liam wanted to talk about what he missed from home, and that was okay. As long as his friends were alright and were coping, Louis was okay.

And Liam didn’t look one-hundred-percent okay, so _Louis_ wasn’t one-hundred-percent okay (not that he had been in the first place, but. Yeah).

Liam inhaled sharply before he _b_ egan to talk once more. “I know this is probably a private thing, but I - - I just, y’know, wanna know so I don’t do anything too stupid.” Another pause, this one lengthy as Liam visibly collected himself again. “And I don’t want to encroach on your privacy, but like, it’s important. To me.”

Louis didn’t respond, giving his friend all the time he needed. Yes, Louis may have been loud. Yes, he may have had the tendency to be less than polite on occasion, but he could definitely recognise when patience – which he unfortunately lacked – was prudent. _Necessary._ And this was one of those times.

There were a few more seconds of unbroken silence before a metaphorical floodgate opened up and words spilled into the space between them like an electrical current, powerful and fast. Liam didn’t hesitate before he said, all in a rush of one breath, “I know you, uhm… well. Listen, Lou, like I said, I don’t want to encroach on anything, but in that first meeting before the welcome party or whatever, when Simon looked at you when we were talking about the fans’ genders - - “

 _Oh._ “I, erm, I know, Liam,” Louis interrupted stiffly, fidgeting where he was sitting, and Liam sagged in on himself, shoulders still tense and eyebrows drawn together. “I know. I remember fairly clearly, in fact. You can jus’ - - S’okay, yeah? You can ask whatever it is you want to ask. I’m open to it. You deserve an explanation, anyway.

“I don’t know how to phrase the question without sounding rude,” Liam fretted and he finally, _finally_ met Louis’ eyes and Louis almost cried at how nervous Liam looked. Christ, he shouldn’t have been _that_ nervous over a little (not so little) question, and it was almost subconscious that Louis reached out a soft hand and wrapped it around Liam’s wrist, stroking over the boy’s pulse point comfortingly with his thumb. “Jus’ ask it how you want to ask it,” Louis murmured, smiling reassuring, delicately. Like a blooming flower in the midst of newfound spring. “Or, like, how you know how to ask it. ‘M not gonna be offended, yeah?”

Liam gulped, nodding, and Louis continued to draw little circles with his thumb over Liam’s thundering pulse in his wrist. He almost missed his friend’s question, knew he would have if it wasn’t for the dramatic rasp of breath beforehand and then: “Are you… Gay?”

Right. Well. _Fun._

Louis tried to force the stiffness out of his shoulders, out of his entire posture in an attempt to school himself, to keep calm when this had gone so, _so_ wrong last time. He’d told Liam to ask him how the other boy knew _how_ to, and if that was how, then Louis could work with it, no matter how scary it was.

So he shook his head, pursing his lips and still gently running his thumb over Liam’s soft and warm skin as he replied, “Erm, no. Not really, but - - “

“What do you mean, not really?” Liam interrupted, like he couldn’t help himself, licking his lips and watching Louis through widened pupils. His pulse was slowing little by little as he grew more comfortable in the situation – as he fell more into that familiar Liam Payne headspace the boys all knew and loved where he asked endless questions and laughed at stupid jokes without a second thought. “I thought there was just, y’know, straight, gay and, erm, what’s it? Oh, lesbian. That’s right. Or is it like a spectrum?”

“Hush Liam, and let me finish, you goof,” Louis laughed affectionately, running his other hand through his messy, sleep-caused hair and feeling his heart give a relieved kick in his chest as Liam finally allowed himself a small grin. If Liam was relaxed, it meant Louis could think properly, and that was - -

Well. It was a step in the right direction.

“I mean, yeah, the best way to describe it is as a spectrum, I guess,” the older boy eventually said, scratching at the back of his scalp and biting his lip like he couldn’t help it. “ I, um, I - - I don’t even really know how to describe it meself because of like, erm, the - - the stigma and, y’know, discrimination surrounding it.” He gestured wildly with his hands, because if he didn’t do _something_ with himself his voice was going to give out. “Still makes people uncomfortable knowing that ‘m, y’know, different.”

It was a painful thing to see as Louis witnessed the realisation clicking together in his friend’s brain.

“Oh, Louis,” Liam murmured, grin falling from his face as his voice broke.

“Don’t,” Louis cut in quickly, searing Liam with steely eyes. Fuck, he _hated_ the pity swimming in his friends’ eyes because _damnit,_ pity always made him emotional and teary-eyed and Louis wasn’t sure he was ready for anyone to see _that_ side of him.

Not yet, at least. “Don’t even. Please. ‘M not some child that needs sympathy.”

“It’s just - - just _wrong,_ though,” Liam protested _._ “It - - it shouldn’t matter, yeah? You’re still human, who you love doesn’t change that,” and seriously, if Liam’s aim was to make Louis burst into tears, he was very, _terrifyingly_ close to succeeding. Louis really, truly, could’ve sobbed himself right back to sleep.

But he didn’t. And he continued.

“I know,” he whispered, voice trembling a fraction. “Christ, I know. It doesn’t really change it though, y’know? Not enough open-minded people yet to make the necessary difference.” He coughed, an attempt to clear his throat which definitely, definitely was _not_ closing over as he rubbed fiercely at his eyes again, refusing to even glance at Liam as he continued to speak.

“But um, anyway. There’s like, a bunch of labels you can use if you want to, like, um, bisexual – where you like any two sexes, but just those two – and pansexual, which is just personality and not sex-based, not the intercourse sex, I mean - - “ he broke off into stupid and childish giggles at the little joke and Liam rolled his eyes as his cheeks flushed pink, watching Louis carefully as he rambled on. “So, um, yeah. List kinda goes on. It’s similar for gender, too, apparently, but I don’t really know because - - because I’m happy being a boy, yeah? I can send you resources, if you’d like, so you can do some research after this, I mean, y’know, if you’re curious. If you want.”

Liam was still looking at him with _that_ look and Louis scoffed at him despite knowing immediately that his friend could see past that stupid, stupid mask of nonchalance. “Well,” Liam started in a soft voice, seeming unsure of what to say. “Well, erm, where are - - where are you on the spectrum?”

Louis issued a gentle sigh and then Liam was moving, curling into his lap like a kitten, knees drawn to his chest as he laid on his side and Louis leaned back against his mini stack of pillows, instinctively reaching a hand into Liam’s hair and scratching softly at his scalp. “Well, I mean, I like, erm - - I like guys, y’know? And I, y’know, don’t label it. Labels make me uncomfortable. S’that… Okay?”

Liam was nodding in his lap, murmuring out a little, “Course s’okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He didn’t _know,_ that was the thing _._ “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I don’t know, Liam. People seem to think it’s not.”

All he could really think about were the slurs and notes written all over his locker and books, and those stupid fucking colourful walls and that stupid fucking flat-screen TV in that _stupid fucking office._

“Well, it is,” Liam said decisively, inching closer to Louis and tucking his hands underneath his chin like a little child. “It really is okay, Louis. It’s completely okay. You - - you can trust us, y’know. Me and, erm, the other boys. We love you. We do. And - - and if your meeting with Simon was like, about _this_ and he made it seem like an issue, I’m not gonna hesitate to call him out for it.”

Louis choked a little on his saliva at the suggestion. “Li, we’re not allowed to, we signed contracts - - “

“I don’t care, I mean it when I say it,” his friend said firmly, and the honesty and sincerity radiated out through his voice, making Louis shudder, completely overwhelmed by Liam’s sudden shift in mood from timid and insecure to motherly and protective and _fierce_. “I really, really mean it, Louis. Let me look after you for once instead of it being the other way ‘round.”

“’M the oldest,” Louis protested weakly, stupidly, if the pinch on his thigh through the blankets – courtesy of Liam, obviously – was anything to go by. “S’my job to protect you. To protect all of you.”

“No it’s not,” Liam said with a dismissive wave of his hand, pursing his lips. “That - - age doesn’t matter in this band, okay? We all protect each other. That’s how this works.” He tilted his head and Louis froze under his friend’s gaze, how forceful it was, how _sincere_ it was as he watched Louis carefully, pupils wide and hair matted and untamed where Louis was stroking through it.

The moment was broken when Louis’ stomach growled impatiently and they both snorted, Liam rolling his eyes and shifting in his friend’s lap.

“Breakfast?” The younger of the two suggested, already making to get off Louis when Louis tugged him back down, making Liam yelp in surprise as he collided with his friend’s chest.

“Mhm,” Louis hummed with a little grin, pressing an array of messy kisses over Liam’s face, making Liam squirm and laugh and bat at him with a hand to try and get Louis to stop. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

It went unspoken that they wouldn’t bring up their conversation to the others – to anyone, for that matter. Not yet, at least. Louis didn’t think Liam understood how grateful he was to not have to voice that aloud and then Liam tapped the tip of his nose with a finger and rolled out of his grip and off the bunk, landing with a _crash_ on the floor as Louis shrieked and dove off the bunk after him, landing on his friend with no remorse whatsoever, sombre mood broken within the span of two seconds.

“What the hell?” Came a marginally slurred voice from the doorway and Louis kneed Liam in the balls as he tried to get up, making Liam cry out and smack him in the face with a reproachful, “ _Louis!”_

Louis looked up and cackled when he spied Niall in the doorway, blonde hair all frizzy and messy as he chugged a bottle of water and threw it at Louis’ head. “How’s the hangover, Nialler?” He teased and then Liam was on him again, slamming him into the floor in a batch of uncontrollably giggles that had Louis grinning along and waving his hands around in a useless attempt to hit Liam who, thanks to his boxing training undoubtedly, managing to shift out of the way of every attempt Louis made.

“Shu’up, Louis,” Niall groaned and then Louis was being hauled off Liam with a reproachful yelp by the blonde and Liam was rolling on the floor laughing, eyes crinkling in the corners as he spectated Louis struggling against Niall’s grip. “Least I had fun last night.”

“So much fun you got _alcohol_ banned here,” Liam cooed with a pout and Louis shrieked, holding a hand over his heart as he protested, “I had just as much fun, Nialler, without gettin’ anythin’ banned from the _House,”_ smacking at Niall’s arms around his waist as he was lifting into the air and carried away before being almost-thrown unceremoniously on to one of the bunks, his head narrowly avoiding smacking into the hard wall of the room that bracketed the bunk (which he couldn’t really recognise, but that wasn’t super important).

“Ya mean ya had intense life discussions wit’ Haz on the sofa. Sounds _really_ fun, Louis. Super.”

“It wasn’t _just_ that,” Louis argued, moving to swat at Niall who smartly ducked away from the blow, grinning like an idiot. “And I’m honestly astounded you remember anythin’ from last night _at all_ considerin’ how drunk you were. I’m no’ even surprised you got good ol’ alc banned. Now let me go get breakfast wi’out pickin’ me up ‘n throwin’ me again, savvy?”

“Did you just say _savvy?”_ Liam questioned teasingly from his spot in the room, having clambered to his feet and moved over to Louis, arms folded across his chest and flannel all crumpled from their momentary wrestling. “Christ, Louis, how much _Pirates of the Caribbean_ have you been watchin’?”

“Oh, do shut up for just a second, Liam.”

He heard Niall and Liam laughing behind him as Louis stumbled from the bunks and into the hallway, almost smashing head-first into the metal railing that aligned the metal staircase going down into the kitchen area. Esther from _Belle Amie_ was curled up on the windowsill with a cigarette pressed between her lips, Bex sitting across from her, silently watching out the slightly opened window at the passing pedestrians below. Louis spared them a polite _g’mornin’_ before he made his way downstairs a little sluggishly, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he stumbled down the last few stairs with something less than elegance.

Contestants were milling about the area as usual, loud and boisterous voices that sounded like _F.Y.D_ and _Diva Fever_ coming from the living space to accompany the blaring sound of music from the television and the speakers.

While Aidan and Katie were perched at the kitchen island looking rather dead to the world, Zayn peering over Katie’s shoulder as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and typed aggressively on her Blackberry, Harry was at the stove as something that smelled entirely too good to be something created by human beings boiled in the pot. His phone was pressed between his shoulder and ear and he was facing away from where Louis was as he spoke quietly and with an obvious smile. “Good, good. How have _you_ been, lovely? Miss you tonnes. Hope you haven’t been smokin’ too much on the roof without me. No, Niall – the blonde one I told you about, funny and Irish – got alcohol banned last night, so I haven’t had the chance.”

Louis figured he was either talking to that girl who had been at the auditions with him – Louis thought he recalled her name was Kate or Katelyn, but he couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure – or his mother, but Louis suspected the former considering Harry had never mentioned that Anne smoked and Harry usually talked about that kind of stuff, unwilling to let it fester for too long.

Another rather obvious observation that Louis wasn’t at _all_ affronted over was that the curly-headed boy was just in some white boxers, and Louis shook his head with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

Without any words, Louis moved up behind Harry silently and wrapped his arms around the younger boy’s torso, making the latter yelp in surprise and a loud cuss come through the phone, followed by a short _what the fuck, Harold?_

Well. Louis liked whoever was on the other end of that phone call already. Even if it meant he had to share best-friend privileges with someone other than his bandmates.

Louis grinned where he had pressed his face into the back of Harry’s neck and Harry breathed out a little laugh, uttering a soft, “Love you loads, Katie, but I gotta go, don’t ruin your lungs,” before he paused his stirring of whatever was in the pot and hung up the phone, tucking it back into his pocket.

“Mornin’ Lou,” Harry mumbled, one of his hands coming to rest on top of Louis’ that were linked together on the curly-headed boy’s stomach, Louis purring happily into Harry’s skin.

“Mornin’ Harold,” Louis cooed a little tiredly, still smiling as he heard Katie – the one _actually_ in the room, although Louis could accurately assume that the one Harry had been calling would react in a similar manner, if only to bully Harry – and Aidan and Esther mutter something about needing to go somewhere before their stools scraped on the kitchen tiles and they departed from the room in a flurry of bickering. Zayn groaned and Louis swore he sensed their bandmate faceplant with a soft grin that he couldn’t suppress before moving away (and presumably up the stairs to the other two boys in the bunks, if the wooden creaking were any indicator). “Whatcha makin’?”

“I _was_ makin’ spicy grilled chicken ‘n catchin’ up with Katie ‘fore you interrupted me,” Harry responded after a few moments, having to force himself to breathe again as Louis’ thumb had stroked over his bare stomach and just caught on his waistband. “No’ that ‘m complaining, y’know. D’yknow Katie, my Katie from home, got Stan’s number somehow and they’ve been talking? Not like, romantically, but now she proper knows you ‘cause apparently, Stan never shuts up about you and she wan’ed to know how you are.”

Louis let Harry ramble on, his smile widening without his permission at each little crack in the curly-headed boy’s raspy and early-morning voice and each jump of his steadily-defining abs when he over-pronounced a word. He sounded joyful, pliant and quite happy to just talk all morning. “Hmm,” Louis hummed as he thought over Harry’s words. “Maybe they, I dunno, met at the afterpar’y ‘n exchanged numbers. That’s sweet she wan’ed to know how I am, though. Tell her ‘m good if she asks again. Kinda rude how you hung up on her.”

“But I wan’ed to talk to you,” Harry said through a faux pout as he resumed stirring the chicken in the pot and Louis snorted, not moving from his place pressed to the younger’s back like an outer shell.

“Yeah babes, but you see me ‘veryday. You haven’t seen her for a while, righ’?”

“Stop making me feel bad while I’m in my element.”

“Playing _Snow White_ again? Truly, truly adorable.”

“Shut _up,_ Lou. Let me fulfill my true destiny to be a live action Disney princess.”

Louis was chuckling into Harry’s skin, the longer back curls tickling the older of the two’s forehead, and Harry was giggling as he flicked the stove off and lifted the pot, setting it down on the marble countertop with a level of grace that Louis would never have expected the usually-clumsy and almost like a baby giraffe boy to possess, all without dislodging Louis from his spot against Harry’s back.

“Rehearsin’ la’er,” Louis mumbled as he snatched a piece of chicken from the still boiling water, yelping and almost dropping the chicken from how hot it was (that didn’t stop him from shoving the whole piece in his mouth in one go, mind you). He heard Harry choke a little, on a laugh or from surprise, Louis couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t particularly care as he chewed the chicken and swallowed before he pressed a sloppy kiss to Harry’s cheek and moved away. “Tastes good, love.” He pulled out one of the stools from under the kitchen island and claimed it for himself, licking his lips somewhat-seductively.

(And Harry _definitely_ didn’t care about that, definitely).

“Zayn told me ‘bout rehearsin’ just ‘fore you came down,” Harry said through a hum as he himself took a piece of the chicken for himself, having to fight back a legitimate _moan_ at the taste (he knew he was an awesome cook, of course, but _Jesus Christ)_ before pulling a plate from the nearest stack and depositing the unhealthy amount of freshly cooked food on the piece of chinaware _._ He hummed softly under his breath as he gripped the now-empty-of-chicken pot and moved to the sink, pouring the steadily cooling water down the drain before setting the pot upside down in the drying rack to - - well, to dry. “I think we’re gonna nail it today, honestly. Yesterday was jus’ a bad day. We all have those.”

“ _That’s_ the type o’ confidence we need,” Louis announced affectionately, shooting Harry a wink as he grasped the nearest cup of water (he thought it must’ve been Aidan’s, but he doubted his friend would care much) and knocked it back like a shot of vodka.

It would have been strange if he hadn’t made sure to overdo it in classically melodramatic Louis Tomlinson fashion, his throat working and eyelids fluttering a little as he swallowed and slowly turned to focus back on Harry, the barest hint of a flush of pink gracing the younger’s cheeks.

What kind of _fuckery_ allowed him to be such a perfect image? Harry would never know.

He hardly realised he was frozen in his place, hands twitching where they’d fallen to his sides, eyes locked with Louis’ (who, Jesus Christ, had a little smirk playing on his face like he _knew_ how Harry was thinking about his absolutely _beautiful_ mouth and almost girlish eyelashes) before somebody cleared their throat from the general direction of the living room space and the curly-headed boy’s head whipped so fast to where it came from that his neck cracked obnoxiously loudly.

“Did I, erm, interrupt something?” Aidan asked, amusement clear in his voice as he slid into the stool beside Louis, snatching his cup of water back with a little faux grumble of irritation. “Zaynie texted me to check on you folks considering you went all quiet not too soon after he left. Got worried, I presume, ‘cause you two are always loud ‘n disruptive.”

Harry could already see the wheels turning in Louis’ head as he prepared himself for his bandmate to make an undoubtedly terrible joke.

“That sounds like we fuck and you know what noises we make,” Louis said almost blandly and, okay, he hadn’t been quite ready for _that,_ so could anybody really blame him as Harry choked on his own saliva? (The answer was _no,_ in Harry’s opinion. A solid, firm _no)._

He had to turn back around to the chicken in order to distract himself, unceremoniously choosing a piece and shoving it into his mouth before moving back over to his companions and setting the plate down in front of them as Louis got out a cheeky little, “Rather creepy of you, mate.”

“Do you not?” Aidan joked as he snatched a piece of chicken from Louis, smacking the boy’s hand and Louis giving a small shriek in retaliation, eventually surrendering and reaching for a new piece. “I have a feeling Stan would know, considering he seems to know everything about you from what you’ve revealed whilst heavily intoxicated at bootcamp. I _could_ just text him and ask if I really was that curious.”

As Louis threw back his head and cackled like some cliché villain from a Disney film, Harry, quite obviously, didn’t know Aidan as well as his bandmate did, considering he hadn’t realised the oldest of their little trio in the kitchen had been completely and utterly joking (except maybe he hadn’t, and Louis had been wrong, but let’s be honest, Louis was almost always right).

“We definitely don’t,” Harry told Aidan matter-of-factly, completely oblivious to the joke, making Aidan roll his eyes and open his mouth to interject and explain he’d been kidding. When the youngest of the trio glanced over to the second-oldest, Louis looked like he was adamantly fighting off an amused grin which just added to Harry’s confusion. He hastily – and unwisely – tacked on, “I think I’d know if I had Louis’ dick in my arse at any point in time, or mine in his, yknow? S’a pretty obvious thing.”

This time it was Louis’ turn to choke.

 _Well, serves him right for being so damn perfect and handsome,_ Harry thought, borderline spitefully but also in awe, cracking his neck again and turning to wipe his hands on the nearest towel brandishing the metal bar protruding from the oven.

“Christ, Curly,” Aidan guffawed, chuckling through his mouthful of food as he thumped Louis on the back in an attempt to clear his airways, the second-oldest present in the room trying to catch his breath as he fixed his wide eyes on Harry.

“I was only jokin’,” continued Aidan, stopping his aggressive hitting on Louis’ back when the boy made a vague gesture for him to stop, his breath sufficiently caught and nothing lodged in his windpipe. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, do ya fancy a nice dick in the arse? Or maybe you’d like to stick yours in somewhere? S’good to be versatile ‘n open to being fucked or _doing_ the fucking, I guess, no matter the gender of your partner.”

Louis snickered, cheeks still burning with lingering embarrassment as Harry thwacked Aidan over the head with the towel, his own cheeks aflame, but his lips were quirked up in a dorky grin that he definitely looked like he was spectacularly failing at suppressing, and that was the end of that.

\--

An hour or so later, majority of the contestants – either half-asleep or wide awake with zero in between – had migrated into the kitchen and sprawled themselves all over it, Louis and Cher taking the countertop of the kitchen island as Louis carefully painted Cher’s nails the new shade of blue that she’d been going on about for a while. ( _“It matches your eyes, Lou!” Harry had cried out dreamily as he’d admired the little glass bottle of it, holding it right up to his eyes for close examination and Cher had giggled as Louis had flushed bright red in the cheeks, unable to hold it back._

_“Maybe I’ll paint your nails that colour sometime Hazza,” Louis had told him as he’d carefully pried the container from his bandmate’s clumsy fingers, smiling shyly. “I think it’d look really awesome on you.”_

_“You do?” Harry had whispered, almost awed, stricken look from having to part with the bottle of nail polish disintegrating into thin air. Louis had convinced him to get somewhat dressed and he had, having slung on a pair of sweatpants that looked a lot like Zayn’s, but really, everyone in the band had quickly forgotten who owned what fairly soon after they’d first stayed at the bungalow._

_“I really do,” Louis had admitted quietly, hoping – praying – the honesty in his voice was seeping out through every pore in his body, even if it was horribly cringy and stupid. Harry was giving him that look that deserved to be reserved for the person who hung all of the stars, so how could Louis resist?_

_He couldn’t. That was that._

_“Now love,” he had started fondly, setting the glass bottle gently on the little sliver of countertop between him and Cher, stroking a hand through Harry’s curls and making the younger boy all but purr and push his head closer to Louis’ hand. “Let me paint Cher’s nails before I forget and she hides a spider in my hair tomorrow morning. I have enough experience when it comes to the consequences of refusing to do my sisters’ nail polish and_ then _saying I was too tired to also do my own even though I’d still do it later.”_

_“I’d never do that to you, Louis darling,” Cher had laughed, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear before reaching over and attempting uselessly to fix Louis’ fringe which had cascaded into his stark blue eyes. “You’d be so revengeful that I wouldn’t have anybody to complain to about when it comes to girls who get shitty when you when you refuse to fuck ‘em ‘cause you’re not interested. Your sisters sound very dramatic. I guess it runs in the family, eh?”_

_“Aye aye, Captain Cher, to both of those points.”)_

His tongue was poking out slightly between his lips in concentration as Cher gossiped about some stereotypical-jocks back in her hometown that had bullied her previously and tried to text her to seem as though they’d been close friends for publicity and attention, Louis humming in acknowledgement and offering his own opinion on it (he was _always_ down for some real gossip, and c’mon, who wasn’t?).

Nearby, Aidan and Harry were star-fished out on the floor beside each other, providing a rather trip-hazard-like obstacle for anybody wishing to get to the pantry to deal with. Aidan was telling Harry some story or another that Louis couldn’t quite catch, but the little smile and glittery eyes the curly-headed boy possessed were enough indicator that it was a happy one. Zayn and Niall were playing FIFA in the living space, Matt helping Niall along as Zayn absolutely _thrashed_ the bleached blonde, if the familiar shrieks of protest were any sort of sign.

Liam had disappeared somewhere – most likely the studio – with Katie and Mary hot on his heels, the two women helping Liam with some of his music theory study he’d abandoned after he’d first gotten into bootcamp after auditions. Rebecca had seemed to disappear, perhaps taking a stroll out in the chilling morning air to relax herself and gain some distance from the roaring life that was the _House._

Louis couldn’t really blame her, if he were honest. He’d probably need a break soon, too, unless he had the desire for his brains to implode.

The main source of entertainment the day had seen so far was in the form of the _Belle Amie_ girls having a not-so-friendly football match against _F.Y.D_ outside while _Diva Fever_ watched on and cheered and Louis hadn’t even been surprised when he’d gotten a text from Esther (who’d warmed up quite fast to him and Harry) saying _we thrashed em, they want two more rounds to try n win. theyre so bad!!_

“Any updates from Esther?” Cher asked curiously, pausing her spiel on how one of the boys who’d tried to text her had slut-shamed her for years prior because of a rumour going around that she’d slept with half of her class. Louis definitely hadn’t had the easiest childhood, not by a _longshot,_ but he’d never had the misfortunate to be publicly defamed or mistreated. He’d been liked well enough in school that he’d never been confronted with that problem.

Outside of school, and in private? Well. Different Louis Tomlinson sob story that he most definitely wasn’t willing to talk about.

“Not yet,” he answered eventually, smoothly (as though he wasn’t having an internal crisis. He’d have to thank his drama teacher generously whenever he saw her next), fanning his hand over Cher’s final nail on her right hand, making her roll her eyes fondly at him before daintily holding out her left for the same treatment. “Don’ think we need much o’ an update, though. Pre’ sure the ladies are still smashin’ the guys. Apparently they’re shit.”

“They _are_ shit,” Matt chimed in, having re-entered the kitchen area, rubbing a calloused palm over his face and rolling his eyes as Niall yelled for the living room that _no, don’t ya dare exit, I need my assistant to even hope of standing a chance against this fucker,_ and Zayn’s echoing cackle as he undoubtedly scored yet _another_ goal against Niall. Louis moved on to Cher’s left hand as Matt continued to speak, Aidan and Harry having fallen silent to listen in on the conversation. “Soph sent me a video one of the _Diva Fever_ guys took on her phone while she was on the field. Kinda creepy, but oh well. I’m not surprised _Belle Amie_ are destroying _F.Y.D_ when those guys play like five-year-old kids who had never kicked a ball in their life.”

Harry giggled where he was on the floor and Louis tried to ignore the way his cheeks burned as he refocused on Cher’s nails, the brush gliding satisfyingly over the smooth surfaces. “Women are always better at sport, anyway,” he hummed. “They’re more committed than men, so they always end up being better.”

“I’d drink to that if alcohol were still allowed on the premises,” Harry agreed, sitting up on his forearms but not getting up off the floor, ignoring the spluttered protest from Cher regarding how he was still underaged. “Gemma’s always been better than me at football ‘n stuff ‘cause she’s so committed to playin’. Kinda freakish, to be honest. S’good though. S’good that she likes it enough to put in the effort it needs.”

“Lottie’s the same,” Louis added on, once again fanning his hand over Cher’s finished nails in an attempt to make them dry quicker, Cher smacking his hand away with a little grin on her face that contained all the thanks that Louis needed (not that he really _needed_ any, but validation was always nice to have, sue him). “She’s crazy good. Think she’s gonna get the twins that good someday, too.”

“You’ll finally have some decent competition,” Zayn commented, re-entering the room with a smirk on his face and a sulky Niall right on his heels. “Well, decent competition that _aren’t_ from rep teams.”

The room fell a little quieter and Louis coughed, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. Cher forced him to look up with a hand on his chin, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. “He’s that good?” She questioned, over-accentuating it as she looked him up and down, a playful glint in her eyes. “I wouldn’t think so. Doesn’t look like a typical baller.”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” Niall answered for Zayn, the blonde sounding eager to offer his own opinion on the discussion. “Kinda terrifying, actually. The five of us played at Haz’s family bungalow over the lil’ break between bootcamp ‘n Judges’ Houses. Tommo smashed it, not that any of us are good enough to give him a real chance to show off.”

“You should verse the _Belle Amie_ girls,” Aidan suggested from the floor with a wink that had Louis snorting and clapping a self-conscious hand over his mouth.

“’m not even tha’ good,” Louis insisted, trying to bite back his smile. “The girls would never let me live it down.”

“Yes you _are_ that good,” Harry argued, sounding offended on Louis’ behalf at his self-deprecation. “’ve seen you play against some people in the Doncaster football team, or something. You gave them a run for their money.”

A noise of shock from someone in the room sounded, but Louis wasn’t really paying attention. “How’ve you seen tha’?” He blurted, raising shocked eyebrows at the curly-headed boy, who flushed pink in the cheeks and averted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck and biting the inside of his cheek. Louis distantly heard Matt bite back a little chuckle and take a seat at one of the stools on Louis’ right (Cher’s left) beside the kitchen island, Niall and Zayn quick to follow his example.

“Stan sent ‘em to me,” Harry admitted eventually and Aidan completely lost it, keeling over and cackling like a madman on the floor. Zayn was hiding his own laugh in his sleeve while Niall openly laughed with Aidan, Matt and Cher watching on with fond eyes. “I think around a week ago.”

Louis spluttered because _Jesus,_ of _course_ Stan would do that as soon as he’d gotten Harry’s number (which he’d probably somehow found through Louis’ contacts, the little creep. Louis would _never_ let him get away with that without revenge when they saw each other next, Christ).

That didn’t change the fact that Louis was embarrassed by it. _“_ I feel like I know the answer, but. Y’know. _Why?”_

Harry furrowed his brows momentarily before digging his phone out of his pocket and typing in the passcode to open it, beginning to scour his text messages for the conversation. “Here!” He exclaimed excitedly and Niall fell into even harder cackles, Aidan grinning like a moron as Louis kept his eyes trained on Harry, flickering over his relaxed body, all pale and lanky and _pretty._ “He, erm, he sent the vid and then texted ‘ _thought you might like these good old ones, Harold. Tell him I think he looks very sexy and I’d totally smash’,_ with two lil’ x’s at the end.”

He paused for a moment, as if contemplating what to say next, before he blurted out, “Your arse _does_ look pretty great in the shorts.”

Louis couldn’t help the surprised expression that crossed his face and the abrupt noise that slipped from the back of his throat as he watched Harry closely, the younger averting his eyes studiously and crawling all over Aidan with no reason behind it, Aidan snorting and rolling backwards with Harry still clinging to him like a koala. Harry squawked at the abrupt movement and Niall giggled like an idiot from where he was sitting.

“His arse always looks good though,” Matt pointed out objectively, _blandly_ and Louis couldn’t help but hide his flushed face in his palms because his friends _were literally discussing the attractive of his bum_ right in front of him like it was _nothing._

“I want his bum,” Cher pouted, reaching around to the pinch the sensitive skin of his hip right above his arse and Louis yelped, jerking away from the pain as Cher giggled and swatted him playfully over the head. “Imagine all the boys I’d get with a bum like that.”

“All of them, I’d imagine,” Zayn chimed in cheekily, winking at Cher. “Louis does, so you would, too.”

“Zayn!”

“I’m not _wrong,_ babes. You know it, and you _also_ know that your arse is a gift, flaunting it around in skin-tight jeans ‘n boxers, so don’t act so flustered. Stand next to Haz for a moment so we can compare.”

“Don’t insult me like that,” Harry complained, making wild gestures with his huge hands in the air. “Lou’s arse is always gonna outrank mine. Mine’s almost as flat as the door to our bunks.”

“I love your bum, Curly,” Louis said with a smirk through a sigh, finally giving in and joining the conversation like Zayn had exposed he wanted. “S’very nice to grab.”

“Aaaaand _that_ is conversation _closed!”_ Aidan cried melodramatically from where he was stuck beneath Harry, the two of them all tangled and looking like they were struggling to separate, much to Louis’ amusement (and jealousy, but he wasn’t about to openly admit that). “Way to make this awks, Lou Lou.”

“ _You_ guys were the one who brought up _my_ arse’ attractiveness factor in the first - - “

“Not the point - - “

“What the hell have I come back to?” Liam asked, sounding bewildered as he re-entered the room, an inquisitive expression on his face.

“Just a little conversation about Louis’ arse,” Matt informed him, taking a drink of the nearest cup of water on the kitchen island that Louis and Cher hadn’t moved out of their way. Louis couldn’t fight the blush out of his cheeks (especially as he caught sight of Harry finally dislodging himself from Aidan and running a hand through his messy curls, something Louis wasn’t ready to admit he found incredibly hot). “We’re all in agreement that it’s very attractive.”

Liam flushed pink in the cheeks and bit his lip to suppress a grin, winking at Louis and mouthing a little _I’m included_ before, thankfully, changing the topic. “Savan wants the five of us,” he paused to gesture between himself and the other four boys, “To get down to the studio and practice early so he can fit us into a sooner rehearsal slot and fix up what’s going on.”

And then Cher was graciously helping Louis down from the kitchen island countertop, Aidan was hauling Harry to his feet, and that was that. Again.

\--

“Let’s nail this, shall we?” Zayn asked with a raised brow, his voice edged with a familiar competitiveness as he lounged across one of the plush beanbags from the main studio floor, the five boys having created something like a beanbag mattress in the centre that they were all strewn across. Zayn and Louis were on the bottom of the pile of boys, Liam and Harry stretched across them with Niall sitting cross-legged on Harry’s back, too light to make much of an impact on the youngest of the band.

Louis hummed where he’d twisted so his head was resting above Zayn’s heart, the soft and consistent beating of it a contrast to Louis’ own erratic heartbeat – the only betrayal of how his friend’s competitive tone was really making him feel, because _damn him,_ seriously, Zayn knew exactly what kind of fire he was playing with as the Bradford boy’s eyes flickered over to Liam – who was already staring at Zayn, lips parted a little as his gaze flickered over Zayn’s features sporadically – as if saying _humour me_ as he snickered.

Louis wasn’t stupid, of course he knew what Zayn’s idea was at the instant moment he’d broken the comfortable silence that had fallen upon the boys. Louis would never admit it, but Zayn’s idea was definitely, _definitely_ working – the bastard and his terrifyingly functional brain – if the little glimmer in Niall’s eyes and the smirk beginning to blossom on Harry’s face were any indication of accurate results.

Making it a competition. Well, could they really expect any better of themselves?

_No, not at all._

“Oh, it’s _on,_ Malik,” Louis drawled with a playful grin, turning to wink at his friend before reaching over Liam’s arse – who smacked his arm half-heartedly, grumbling that he couldn’t just asked for Liam to do it instead of being a nuisance – and slapping the little sideways triangle button on the CD player they’d set up previously and procrastinated using for an hour and a half.

\--

Louis had been right the night before, when he and Harry had been all curled up on that sofa and Louis had seen the butterfly and Harry had felt _home._

Louis had been right because after a few hours of rehearsal in the main studio, propelled by Zayn’s accidental-but-probably-not making of it all into a competition, small food and water breaks interwoven throughout, Harry’s worries had been worn down to their thinnest width, to the point where they were barely _there_ anymore by the time they were called into Savan’s recording studio.

Louis may have been right, as usual, but it was (in all honesty) Savan’s enthusiastic feedback and reassurance that sent them bouncing and squealing in excitement, all hugs and beaming smiles that were borderline creepy.

“I’m very impressed, boys,” Savan told them at the end of the session, just as they’d finished up and made a move for the door to leave for an early dinner, grinning like idiots and bringing each other into random celebratory embraces. “You’re real contenders this season. Some of these acts, like every season, were picked for pretty faces, or their uniqueness, or their weird cliques, or because they used up all of their abilities at auditions just to make it this far and the judges took pity on them.”

“Nicolo in a nutshell,” Louis snickered to Niall and the blonde snorted so loud it sounded like he hadn’t been expecting it.

“You’re not like that,” Savan continued smoothly, like there hadn’t been any interruption in the first place. “You may be pretty and young and gaining media attraction rather fast with the ladies, for your looks or your obvious personalities – I’ll never know – but that’s not why you were picked. The judges knew you’d be good, and you’re _more_ than good. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you, because I expect even _better_ than what you’re already giving me, and I know you can do that.”

\--

_4 th of October_

They may have been oblivious to the bulk of it, but _One Direction_ ’s Twitter attraction was gaining at an unexpected and unplanned rate – an almost dangerous rate for such a new group of inexperienced boys to handle (which was why _Modest!_ and Simon were trying to contain them as much as possible on their social medias. It wouldn’t do any good for them to get overwhelmed too fast).

After they’d woken up and spent the next three hours revelling in their new ten-thousand or so Twitter followers, Louis tearing up over the phone to his mum, the boys filmed their first video diary two days after their latest success in Savan’s recording studio. It may have been fairly short and uncontrolled and chaotic to the extent that the producers and camera crews were rubbing their foreheads like they had nuclear headaches and pursing their lips in irritation, but they couldn’t care less, high on adrenaline (and also literally high, but. Yeah).

It didn’t matter – the views shot up like crazy on the various social platforms it had been posted to (much to Louis’ admitted glee, when he saw the looks on the camera crew and producers’ faces later in the morning when they’d migrated down to the studio, which prompted him into having a celebratory weed session with his boys on the nearest balcony. They had almost been discovered if Cher hadn’t been there to save the day and loudly start talking about how her dad had been the one she was with when she’d gotten her first period, effectively scaring away the PAs, much to their amusement as the boys broke out into hysterical laughter, each of them having experience with such things).

They may have recognised their early successes, may have deemed them good enough to celebrate over, but they didn’t – _couldn’t_ comprehend what was _really_ happening, that it was inexplicably _wrong_ for them to be gaining so much media traction as early as they had with only a few videos and posts under their belts.

“Eyebrows are being raised everywhere in offices where this show is tracked,” Anne-Marie informed Simon on that cloudy morning, dressed in her clean work attire. She and Lear were the only of Simon’s staff present in his space to discuss their progress, something she’d been gleeful over as it would mean less distractions, less _attempted_ distractions by her not-so-eager staff. “Any recording label business or management office keeping eyes on these contestants has their eyes specifically trained on those boys. We’ve already got phone calls coming in from Columbia Records and even an American one, Atlantic Records, on top of private managing companies to huge public ones like ourselves here at Modest.”

Simon hummed along in affirmation, shuffling through the most recent stack of paperwork Anne-Marie’s team had handed him, full of phone call details and contact methods. Anne-Marie wasn’t wrong in the slightest – the five boys of _One Direction_ certainly had captured the eyes of businesses spread across Europe, and even further.

He paused at one name.

“They laid an offer down?” He asked carefully, a singular eyebrow raised as he set the paperwork down on his desk.

He didn’t need to say who. It went unspoken.

“It’s a multi-million-dollar deal,” Anne-Marie told him cautiously, schooling herself into blandness and her solely-business mind-frame. Lear was silent where he was positioned to her left, brows furrowed as he scanned over his own briefly scrawled notes – a far less detailed version of the paperwork sitting before their boss. “Far more than we imagined they’d offer. Regarding any of the acts, for that manner. It’s very surprising, to say the least.”

“What does it include?”

“Five years and five albums, four tours at a minimum, not including separate charity events, and exclusive joint-management with us, no other company. Those five would have to sign almost immediately after the show to fit the five-album deal, because statistics show that they’ll lose motivation if they wait another year before they start anything.”

“I’m well aware of what the statistics show, Miss Thomson. Studied them, believe it or not.”

Anne-Marie Thomson didn’t stutter as she continued, chin high and eyes fixed on Simon on the opposite side of the desk. “You specifically asked me to draft an action plan for if this happened, and I have. It’s detailed in there if you’d like to go over it now. I think to summarise it up, this is the best deal that we’ll ever get, and it’s one they won’t possibly be able to decline, not in their right minds.”

Simon fell into thoughtful silence for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “Alright,” he conceded, voice firm. “I’ll leave you two to be on your way now while I read over the action plan, and I’m assuming the draft contracts if you listened to my request exactly.”

Anne-Marie nodded in affirmation and waited for her boss to continue. “Nobody is to let any of this leak to the five contestants in question. They’re blissfully oblivious, which gives us more time to patch up any legal issues in these new draft contracts with the lawyers. It _also_ gives us enough time to finalise the marketing deals and ideas, which is going to solidify our success tenfold.” He broke off into a sharp inhale, fixing Lear and then Anne-Marie with equally as stony eyes.

“Get a meeting together with the lawyers and your most trusted staff. We need to discuss this as a group as soon as possible. Don’t let me down.”

Back in the _House_ and away from all things serious and business-like, blissful obliviousness, so to speak, seemed to be majorly appreciated by the boys themselves, as they got high on weed and cackled over the Twitter and Instagram hashtags they were trying to decode while their brains struggled to process everything fast enough, most entertaining tag, coincidentally, being _#larrystylinson._

\--

They’d almost befriended Savan at this point, Louis feeling comfortable enough to joke around and be his normal idiotic-yet-somehow-intelligent self without causing their vocal coach anything other than entertainment. The creative director was as happy as he could be with a group of five rambunctious boys who each had a hatred of dancing and choreography, helping them along with their stage routines (step forward, sing for half the verse, rotate to the left, sing for another half, rotate to the right two positions, etc etc).

All of that positivity didn’t mean Louis _wasn’t_ having a minor to major panic attack. It didn’t mean he was fine in any sort of manner, because all the positivity in the world couldn’t fix the brewing storm of anxiety in his gut.

It wasn’t a lack of faith in their abilities, or anything. Not a lack in Harry or Liam or Zayn or Niall or the camera crews or the microphones (even though they hadn’t had such a consistent track record with said microphones). Not a lack of faith in their recovery abilities, for he knew somebody could literally tumble off stage or snap their leg in half and they’d all play along with it. In the case of an unintentional stage dive, Niall most likely being the one to leap off the stage after the fallen band member would do as such while the others would do some vocal gymnastics as a distraction and if somebody were to break their leg, they’d most likely all collapse on the floor and continue singing from their to make it look like it was planned for comedic effect (and make excuses that the injured bandmate was sick, so they’d had to carry his part for him).

It was his own importance in the band that scared him. Savan’s constant reminders whenever Louis seemed to float away inside his mind during rehearsals just added to his fears. _“You’re the backbone of the band, Louis. It doesn’t matter you’re not soloing. You have to hold the chorus up, or it all falls apart. You know that.”_

_Gee, thanks Savan. Nice reassurance there. Super helpful._

It always made him think of Spain, back in the stupid kitchen with the stupid pasta and crutches while a tearful Harry had gripped him by the shoulders and tugged him into one of the fiercest embraces he’d ever received.

_We needed you._

It hurt him to consider, really. He’d never felt so vital, so _needed_ in the entirety of his life up until that point in Marbella when he’d let his boys down when he hadn’t spoken up about the microphone dysfunction. Of course, he’d been the best friend to Stan he could’ve been, always there in any situation to back him up, and he’d always been a good family man around the house, a complacent and not-so-troublesome son to his mother and a good role model for his sisters – a dependable force if they ever needed someone to lean on, no matter what. He’d always been that person, and it wouldn’t ever change. He’d always _be_ that person, the one that everybody wanted. But didn’t _need._

Those people back home could live without him. If he had never been born, he was sure it wouldn’t have impacted anybody too much. His mother would’ve had a less complicated family with only having daughters to provide for, he wouldn’t have indirectly caused a shit-show of a normal parental couple, Stan would’ve connected with somebody else just as easily, ecetera. He wasn’t a necessity for any of them, no matter how often those people told him he was.

And for that to not be the case with the boys was _terrifying._ They needed him, and not just musically. He was Liam’s support system, the one to cry to whenever Liam missed his family too much because Louis understood; the best-friend to Zayn that the Bradford boy had never had in high-school, always a mood-lightener and willing to pull dumb pranks on people if it meant Zayn would smile; the fellow idiot with Niall, running around and screaming and joking with buckets or bins over their heads just because they could, and - - and Harry’s protector, the one always by his side, no matter what happened.

To know that he was just as needed personally as he was musically and could, if he very well chose to, cause the downfall of their entire band, was far too horrifying for him to ever have the hope of processing healthily.

The boys had their first practice slot on the _actual_ stage, and Louis’ nerves definitely shot up tenfold as Simon sauntered into the room, iced coffee in one hand and ominous sunglasses shielding his eyes (despite it being autumn, which meant there was hardly any sun anywhere). The boys tried to act normal as Simon took a silent seat at the judges’ table, setting his coffee down and neatly folding his sunglasses beside the cup, coughing into his fist as he raised expectant eyes to the stage.

“Alright boys,” Savan declared from the back of the stage after having given a little extra volume coaching to Liam, his eyes crinkling in joy at their progress (it warmed Louis’ heart just a little bit more, helping him relax as much as he physically could with the man entitled with taking care of their future only a few metres away). “I think, erm, I think we should give it a full run through. No breaks, no cutting off, timing on point, blah blah blah.”

Louis locked eyes with Harry across the stage, the curly-headed boy shifting his weight from foot to foot in anxiousness as his thumb and forefinger pinched and tugged at the collar of his new burgundy turtleneck Aidan had bought him as a gift from one of the older man’s nights out.

He didn’t really have to think about his actions as the eldest band member made a little _come here_ gesture with his left palm, Harry taking notice of it freakishly quickly and seeming to float over to Louis without any fragment of unsureness. Louis didn’t even hesitate, couldn’t possibly have forced himself to, before he wrapped the trembling boy up in a short embrace.

Louis hated, god, he _hated it_ when Zayn cleared his throat and they had to separate, eyes lingering on each other and Louis offering a quirk upwards of his lip, clutching a fistful of Harry’s turtleneck between his fingrs.

“We’ll be okay,” he told Harry firmly, eyes flickering over the younger boys’ face.

Harry didn’t say anything as he moved away, gulping when he moved into his place between Louis and Liam. Louis’ fingertips were tingling and his heart was beating erratically in his chest, but he pretended not to be any different as he took his position centre stage, pushing his shoulders back and standing up a fraction straighter, refusing to even risk a singular glance in Simon’s direction.

As Savan clicked play on the music, _Viva La Vida_ blasting through the speakers, Louis had to shove the panic into the back of his brain and get through the longest two minutes of his life without blacking out in front of everybody. He’d never be able to live it down if he did.

Liam was still a bit too loud, Zayn slightly off time and Niall battling to regulate his backing vocals, but to Louis, it sounded almost perfect. The little inconsistences gave the song soul that it had been lacking before, and if his little sneaky glances in Simon and Savan’s direction – the vocal coach having moved to his employer’s side – were any accurate kind of indicator, their two judges seemed equally as impressed as he was.

Louis tried to pretend his knees didn’t go at least a little weaker as Harry began to sing.

The song finished playing, and Louis and the boys visibly sagged in relief as they moved to the side and snatched up their water bottles, Niall throwing one to Louis and Louis passing it on to Liam, who seemed like he couldn’t find his original one in the messy pile of sweaters and empty plastic bottles that they’d drained steadily throughout the rehearsal period.

“Wow- _ie!”_ Savan cried from the sidelines before he practically leaped up on to the stage, dragging Zayn into an unexpected side embrace which had the Bradford boy squeaking high in his throat. “Christ boys, that was absolutely _incredible._ Zayn, keep on working on that timing and Liam try to fix your volume a fraction more and I reckon you have this week _easy.”_

Simon’s booming voice made Louis jump where he was standing as he gulped down water, but he played it off as cool as he could as their mentor began to speak.

“Boys,” he began, the five of them trying and failing to look nonchalant and as though they weren’t shaking in their shoes, forming a line near the front of the stage, Savan watching on from the left like a proud and awkward parent. “I can’t even pretend that I’m not impressed, because I truly am. That was excellent.”

Louis felt his knees go weak, this time from relief rather than his heart missing at least five beats in his ribcage, and he leaned into Liam’s side, Zayn pressing his face into Louis’ throat with a soft sigh as Harry and Niall cheered and wrapped each other up in their arms, grinning like idiots.

“I will admit that I’m surprised you’ve gelled together so easily. It almost appears to be like you were made to sing together,” Simon told them confidently, and Louis could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smile on the man’s usually unforgiving face. “You sound a thousand times stronger, and not many group acts I’ve seen over the years have been able to combine their vocals so nicely, despite having auditioned together instead of being put together like you boys. Well done.”

Louis jerked when he felt a little unsuspected tap on his shoulder before he peered over and his searching gaze was met an endless sea of beautiful emerald green.

“Because of you,” Harry lip-synced over Niall’s head, eyes sparkly like something out of a fantasy realm, nodding and smiling reassuringly. _Proudly,_ Louis realised, and his heart almost stopped in his chest _._ “It’s because of you. You make us strong.”

 _We needed you_. _We_ need _you._

He fought off the burning sensation in the corners of his eyes as Louis inhaled deeply, offering a little nod and nervous smile in Harry’s direction before he faced the front again, lip caught between his bottom teeth.

He couldn’t break down, couldn’t cry or say he wasn’t worth anything, not when his boys depended on him. He was a necessity.

Their necessity.

_(5 th of October)_

Time seemed to go by in a flash, and suddenly it was the day of their _Viva La Vida_ performance.

While the other boys slept in a little more, Harry started the day off the right way – puking his guts up in the bathroom at some unhealthy hour in the morning, the sky still overwhelmingly dark through the windows.

He wasn’t surprised, really, because he always got like that before a big event where he was directly involved. Before every school play, exam, assignment, the list went on. That sort of reaction, the throwing up and the pounding headache and the completely, utterly endless pit of despair in his chest weren’t anything new.

Anxiety had been a prominent villain in Harry’s life for as long as he could remember, a weight in his veins that tugged at him like a hook and drowned him like a whirlpool, picking him apart with thoughts of being unloved, of being an irritation, of being an inconvenience, being _unnatural._ And as he’d grown older and met more people, those little fears had turned into bigger fears as they were confirmed over and _over_ again, his classmates and even his own _family_ calling him a _glitch,_ a _weirdo_ if he suddenly went off topic or spoke too slow or did something weird in front of everybody and he’d smile and laugh along but inside he’d be panicking, screaming, wanting to get _out._

He hadn’t been left to drown in his own head for very long, though. As soon as Katelyn had come along in early high-school, the new kid that everybody had heard shitty rumours about and was feared by the entire school _(“Apparently she got expelled because she broke a boy’s nose and arm!” “I heard she beat up a teacher. Wouldn’t be surprised.” “She looks too rough to be a girl.”),_ he’d found a latch.

They’d found each other quickly – the anxious kid who cried when somebody else was upset and did strange things, and the punk who was into writing and was so wildly hated and feared that she hid away.

Katelyn had helped him through the roughest patches of the anxiety, the parts his mother and sister and father couldn’t help him with because they didn’t _get it_ like Katelyn did. She was by his side to reassure him, to help him cope, to teach him how to shut it out like she’d learned, even if it were just a little and didn’t really do much for him in the long run. She’d helped him find the beautiful parts in being a _glitch_ or being unique, and he’d learned that okay, maybe he wasn’t so bad if he could get past the anxious swirls in his heart and his head.

She was the reason he’d gotten so far on _X-Factor_ in the first place, had worked up the confidence to do the damn _Battle of the Bands_ performance the year before he’d gotten on to the show.

It was because of her that he still did strange things sometimes that made Liam grin and shake his head in amused confusion, things that made Zayn break out into cackles and Niall shout out supportive phrases like _legend_ and _get it Hazza_ that always made Harry feel better, actually feel like a legend instead of just being called one for the sake of being called one. And no matter what, when he did those stupid and weird things, he could look at Louis and see that yeah, okay, he _was_ weird and _was_ a glitch, but it always made his friends laugh and made Louis’ eyes crinkle in the corners like he was looking at the sun, a blinding grin on his face, and that had to mean being a glitch was okay.

But those things didn’t magically make it all alright, didn’t magically fix everything. The other side of things was scary for him, was confronting because he can’t have a perfect life with his band and his friends without being on the receiving end of a not-so-good thing. Like not being able to blend into a crowd when he wanted to hide from the world and responsibility, because it was inevitable that there would eventually be paparazzi and screaming people following him, blinding cameras hitting him from all directions and trying to catch him in the act of falling or crying or talking with his mouth full or _something_ that could absolutely, entirely ruin his life and _that_ terrified him beyond belief.

Maybe that was why the anxiety Harry was feeling there on the bathroom floor, on his knees leaning over the lip of the toilet in case he needed to vomit again, felt different. Stronger, like a new threat to his mind instead of the old timer that he’d been battling for most of his life.

He felt so _pathetic,_ because all of this was starting _then_ and _why_ was it only starting then and what had he done to _deserve it,_ he’d been going so well and _shit,_ he could feel the tears as his sweat-damp curls began to stick to his equally as sweaty and shiny skin - -

“Harry?”

And _shit,_ that was _Louis_ of all people waiting outside that door and Harry tried and failed miserably to muffle a sob into the skin of his forearm as he collapsed in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face behind them like a fucking _coward._

“Hazza, are you okay? Can I come in? The door’s locked, I can’t help you unless you let me in.”

Harry just wanted to have a meltdown on his own (he really didn’t) thank you very much, wanted to curl in on himself and never remerge because everything was _hurting_ and his head was pounding and he didn’t think he could _stand up_ \- -

But he was a sucker for Louis, had been since the day they’d met in that stupid bathroom at _Battle of the Bands,_ and it was almost subconsciously that he clambered to his shaky feet and with trembling fingers flicked the lock off, rubbing at his eyes forcefully and biting his lip to hold his cries in.

The door slowly opened and Louis came in, not looking at Harry as he closed the door behind himself, the older lad just in some sweatpants, tanned chest on display. If it had been any different situation, Harry definitely would’ve swooned, but as it was, he was trying not to break apart at the seams.

Louis finally looked at him, and Harry almost shattered as he watched his friend’s eyes widen in shock and concern and something that looked like grief and pain mashed into one mess of an emotion. “Oh my god,” he whispered, reaching out a tentative hand and running it soothingly through Harry’s curls, jolting in his place as the gesture made the younger of the two whimper a little in the back of his throat.

“Oh my god, Harry,” Louis breathed again, voice breaking, and he could see Harry fully process how worried he was and _fuck,_ it _hurt_ the older that the absolutely perfect green-eyed boy looked _surprised_ that somebody cared so much, hands and body shaking as he watched Louis through those, gorgeous, _gorgeous_ eyes that anybody would fall in love with. “Are - - are you alright? Did you - - did you throw up? You look like you did, Christ, you’re so pale. What do you need me to do? Let me help you, please. Do you want a drink, or something?”

Harry was going to keel over as he sniffled and flinched away from Louis’ grasp, trying desperately to keep himself together long enough to talk, because if Louis kept on touching his hair like that for much longer like it was a piece of art, he was going to fracture. “Took care o’ the puke,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling clunky and awkward in his mouth. “Wanna clean up. Get myself washed up, at least.”

Louis didn’t, couldn’t possibly have hesitated before he made his way over to the shadow and pulled open the screen saying in a decisive voice that had Harry’s insides quivering a little, “’M gonna run you a hot shower and then go get you some water, okay? Wanna grab a towel from under the sink, Hazza?” He wasn’t even really thinking, worry for his friend making him chew anxiously on his lip as he waited for Harry to comply, flicking the water on in the shower and hissing as the freezing cold substance came into contact with his skin.

Harry did just that, trembling almost violently, as he ran a sweat slick palm through his hair and it was a few more minutes of him patiently waiting in contemplative silence as Louis adjusted the temperature to how he knew Harry liked it from their time spent in the bungalow with their fellow bandmates (just on the side of almost too hot, because it worked best for the curly-headed boy’s sensitive skin and hair. Not that Harry had told him that, or anything, because he’d thought it was important for Louis to know. And not that Louis had memorised it, of course not. Maybe Niall was on to something when he called them creepy).

“Here, babes,” Louis whispered, the shower running at the perfect temperature as he stepped away and Harry stripped before climbing in and closing the door behind him, Louis taking his towel for him and slinging it over the lip of the bathtub in silence. He left the room for a moment to grab Harry’s full water bottle from the desk shoved unceremoniously next to the bathroom door before he returned and closed the door behind himself, leaving the bottle on the sink for later. His thoughts were churning away in his head, all conflicting as he processed what had happened, how hopeless Harry had looked, had visibly _felt_ like - -

He needed a breather. He needed to leave, Christ, because if he panicked while Harry was clearly panicking, there was nothing good to follow.

Just as Louis made to exit the room, the curly-headed boy spoke up above the pounding of the shower water.

“Can you stay?”

Harry didn’t even register the words before they slipped from between his lips, having felt the panic rise in his chest again as he spied Louis making his way to the bathroom door, probably to leave.

Harry couldn’t be alone. Not the way he was.

Louis froze where he was, thoughts tumbling in his mind as he fiercely fought off a flush in his cheeks because seriously, staying in a bathroom with a naked and showering Harry Styles with soap all over his glistening and _toned_ body was like a wet dream come true.

But. _But._ Because Louis was just as much of a sucker for Harry as Harry was for Louis, he could never have hoped to resist such a quiet and desperate request, humming in his throat and turning back to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub, beside Harry’s towel. “What’s on your mind, love?”

Harry could feel his heart beating unevenly in his chest, the water from the showerhead pounding down on his pale skin as he clicked open his shampoo bottle that smelled like cinnamon and was good for his sensitive scalp, working it through his sweaty hair with a deep, weighted sigh before he answered with a question of his own.

“We deserve to be here, right, Lou?”

Louis didn’t have to think before he answered, frowning a little. “Of course we do, Haz,” he said confidently, licking his lips. “If we didn’t, then we wouldn’t have even made it past Judges’ Houses and a group like _The Reason_ would’ve been in our place instead. The burly ones nobody really liked.”

“Yeah, I remember them. I’m just - - “ Harry cut himself off with a sharp inhale as he washed the shampoo suds out of his hair, thoughtful and contemplative. “I’m jus’ really worried.”

“We’re all a bit like that at the moment, love,” Louis comforted. “Not just us ‘n the boys, either. I mean _everyone._ It’s just part of the competition, all of the nerves ‘n shit. S’not nice, but we can’t change it.”

“No, Lou, s’not like that.” Harry shivered a little, tipping his head back so the water cascaded over his face and _right,_ Louis needed to face any other available direction so he could make it through the conversation without feeling like he was burning up from the inside out. He coughed quietly and pivoted to face his own reflection in the mirror instead of Harry’s scarily attractive and wet body that was starting to flush from the heat of the water.

He was hopeless.

“Okay, then,” Louis started slowly. “Okay, so walk me through it. So I can help you.”

Harry took a brief moment to steady his thoughts and his breathing before he started talking. He didn’t want to sound as shaky and unsure as he felt, because really, if he let himself sound the way he felt, he could already envision Louis yanking him out of the shower and holding him close in such a manner that would send the younger bawling. “I’ve just been, like, thinking about all the media attention we’ve gotten, right?” He paused and Louis hummed in affirmation that he could continue.

“Like, that obviously means we have some sort of fan network, including ones that don’t have social media, yeah? Simon mentioned to me in - - in that stupid meeting that it’s really weird we’ve gotten so much traction so soon, yeah, because - - because we haven’t even really _made_ it yet, we’re just competitors, and nobody ever gets this much attention when they’re at the stage we’re currently at.”

That came as a bit of a surprise to Louis, who made a little noise in the back of his throat in response. He turned over the information in his mind and could definitely see why Harry was mulling over it, because why would five semi-ordinary boys gain so much traction before they’d ever properly made it?

Harry only paused for a bit more before he continued his spiel. “So I was like, what if, y’know, all those fans out there just want us for our good looks? Or maybe because they want to have a chance with a celebrity who might be good at sex and make them famous or give them famous kids, or whatever. That maybe, all those fans just want us because we’re young and on TV, not because they actually like us for who we are, and I’m so scared of that, Lou, I’m losing my mind.”

“Harry-” Louis started, voice breaking, but Harry soldiered on, sounding panicky again.

“And like, there were other groups that didn’t make it here because of us, like, it’s our fault that they didn’t make it and - - " His voice went even higher as it broke and Harry cut himself off, his words falling almost frantically into the echoing shower stall. "And what if they were better than us, right, and the screaming fans and new Twitter followers are just around until they realize we aren’t actually good enough to be here and we sent people home who deserved this more than we ever did? More than _I_ ever did? Or what if - - what if _we_ get sent home early, like _tonight,_ I can’t deal - - we literally _just_ got started as a band and I can't be on my own again, I can’t do it - - I _need_ you guys like fucking oxygen - - “

“Harry!” Louis snapped firmly, abandoning his post on the bathtub edge and throwing open the shower door. Harry had collapsed into a ball on the floor of the shower, sobbing so hard his entire body was jerking with the force of it, his arms wrapped around his middle and squeezing at himself like he was holding himself together through physical strength alone and he’d already broken apart inside his mind. He had himself pressed into one of the corners, all balled up like an injured kitten and if _that_ didn’t hurt Louis, he did _not_ think anything else in the world could, because a broken Harry Styles was the most heartbreaking sight somebody could ever witness.

It didn’t matter that Louis had just gotten his fringe under control and he was still wearing his favourite pair of sweatpants, because Harry was crying and he needed Louis, and Louis - -

Louis could never say no to Harry.

“Shh, love,” Louis murmured over the spray of the shower water, crushing Harry into a rib-breaking kind of embrace. Harry _wailed,_ the sound tearing out of him in such a manner that told Louis he hadn’t meant for the sound to escape, the younger burying his face in Louis’ shoulder immediately afterwards. “Calm down, it’s okay. I’ve got you, never gonna let go of you. S’okay, ‘m here, sweetheart.” The words were just pouring out of him for all it was worth, not even processing fully before they fell out, but it didn’t _matter_ because Harry’s arms were around Louis’ neck in an instant, scrabbling at his friend’s water-slick skin for anything to hold on to, anything to ground him in the present with face pressed into the side of Louis’ throat as he stuttered and sobbed. “Lou - - “

“Shh, babes,” Louis interrupted, forceful but reassuring and calming as his hands began to stroke instinctively up and down Harry’s shaking back. “No more. We’ve let all the bad out into the shower, all of the anxiety, time to let it go. I’m right here, okay? You don’t need to be scared anymore. I won’t let you be scared anymore.”

And it was true. Louis would never, _ever_ let Harry be scared again, because he already knew he’d do anything to protect the curly-headed boy from Holmes Chapel.

“But - - “

“Harry.”

Harry listened and Louis tugged him closer with a soft sigh, twisting just so Harry could keep his face buried in the soft skin of the older throat but Louis could press his face into his friend’s hair and breathe in the calming scents.

Louis couldn’t ever tell anybody how long they stayed curled up on the floor of the shower, too wrapped up in the moment to have really processed it. But Louis’ sweatpants were soaked all the way through and Harry’s curls turning matted and knotty, and he knew they’d been in there long enough for the pounding water to turn from hot to unpleasantly cool and lukewarm and into a less powerful force, like one of the weird summer showers. It was also long enough for Harry’s violent sobbing to slow to soft sniffles and for his trembling to subside a fraction, just enough so it didn’t seem like he was going to shake apart, and Louis’ fringe was all over the place.

It was also long enough for an entirely oblivious Niall to barge in, the door slamming against the wall with an obnoxious _bang._ There were stacks of his clothes and a towel clutched precariously in the Irish boy’s grip, still not noticing the two of them in the shower for a good few seconds and then proceeding to let out a high-pitched yelp when he finally saw their intertwined bodies – Harry’s naked and shaking form accompanied by Louis’ half-clothed, fully soaked body.

“Shit, lads!” Niall squeaked as he hopped backwards, eyes wide as he dropped his clothes and the towel. “Shit, well - - Um, okay. Usually I’d join it but, erm - - I’ll just - - “

And then he backed out, shaking his head.

Louis snickered quietly into Harry’s curls, the younger giving a soft chuckle that sounded closer to a sigh. The older of the two took the opportunity to lean back a fraction, just enough so he could take in Harry’s red eyes, the tear tracks cascading down his face, and the little smile that was slowly blooming on his lips.

Louis couldn’t help himself as he swiped a soft thumb over the tear trails, and Harry couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

“Let’s get you warmed up, love,” Louis murmured, reaching up to flick the shower off and climbing to his feet, watching the water slid satisfyingly down the drain. He helped Harry to his shaky feet, too, the younger unsteady and unbalanced as they exited the shower, Louis leaving Harry in the middle of the bathroom for just a moment so he could grab the curly-headed boy’s towel, one his mum had made for him, if the complimentary initials that matched hers were anything to go off. He moved back over to Harry and – while studiously avoiding looking too closely at anything to do with Harry’s glistening body – brought the towel up to the boy’s curls, drying them out while Harry giggled weakly and closed his eyes, shaking the curls out once Louis was done. Louis grinned as he handed Harry the towel, waiting for the younger to wrap it around himself before they left the bathroom, Louis still in his soaked sweatpants, and re-entered the boys’ bunks.

Thankfully, their three bandmates had seemed to trickle out of the room, the vague hint of pale sunlight filtering through the closed blinds shielding the window next to Harry’s bottom bunk beneath Louis’. Louis broke away from Harry once again just to close and lock the door to the bedroom, depriving any passing person of a show before he picked his way across the messy floor and to Harry’s bunk, fishing through the suitcase pulled half-way out for an outfit (it didn’t need to be a production crew-approved outfit, thankfully, because Kaya and Charlie were styling them tonight and that was a blessing wrapped up in silk, really).

Harry had found a perch in the form of Liam’s bunk as Louis fished out a soft grey jumper that he theorised was actually Niall’s, alongside some khaki sorts and deposited them on Harry’s bunk before taking some more of his friend’s clothes for himself in the form of a fresh pair of black sweatpants and a white shirt and snatching the nearest towel from the metal bar protruding from his own top bunk.

“When we were at auditions,” Louis started quietly, seriously, moving away from Harry’s bunk with his own chosen clothes and towel in his arms, leaving the curly-headed bot to access the stuff laid out for him. “I, erm, I didn’t have any plans on getting through, really. I mean, you know, ‘cause I told you at _Battle of the Bands_ last year, but I’d already been and tried to be on the show and got sent home before I could even go in front of the judges.”

He paused to strip off his soaked sweatpants, letting them fall to the floor with a wet _smack,_ underwear following when he peered over his shoulder to see that Harry’s back was turned as the curly-headed boy, slowly pulled the jumper over his head, pretended that he wasn’t listening with every fibre of his being to what Louis was saying _._ “So when I got brought backstage this year, I was thinking the whole time, ‘Okay, so, I’ve gotten a bit further. I might actually get on telly this time, even if it’s just an immediate goodbye.’ I was thinkin’ like tha’ because I couldn’t possibly fathom the idea of making it through when I was surrounded by all these talented people with years of experience, all of these voices and instrumental abilities that my own could never, ever really compete with. Sure, I had stage experience. Sure, I’m fairly good at piano if I do say so meself, but that stuff doesn’t really square up compared to almost a lifetime of singing coaching and success that I’ve never had.”

He paused again to take a much needed breath, slipping on a fresh pair of underwear, followed quickly by the chosen sweatpants with Harry’s distinctive deodorant smell still on them (something like fresh roses and melted chocolate, but that sounded a little too perfect for reality) that were so baggy and loose on his slim waist that they were probably going to fall down sooner or later.

His lower half had been kept pretty dry, surprisingly, the thickness of the sweatpants having protected his skin, so he didn’t bother with the towel as he tugged the drawstrings tight and turned around to face Harry. The curly-headed boy was sitting on his bunk with his khakis and jumper on, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he waited for Louis to continue. Louis gulped a little and bent over to pick up the towel, drying off his chest and then his stupid quiffy hair and pretending like it was just another talk with his best-friend and not like he was pouring out his innermost turmoils while Harry soaked it all up like a sponge.

“And I saw this boy,” Louis continued, voice soft and gentle like he would sound if he were talking to a little puppy. “And he had the worst kempt curly hair in the history of the human race and the cutest little dimples, and he was one of the coolest in the whole studio. And I was like, ‘hey, I met this kid last year,’ and remembered that you sang like a fucking angel, which is really like the cherry on top of a sundae scaffolded from unfairness, especially when you _also_ sang heavenly on the same stage we’re singing on tonight. I remember thinking to myself as I watched you perform, ‘Now that curly boy called Harry, he’s going places.’ And to think I ran into you a year ago and you pissed on me in a bathroom and almost cried, only for us to meet _again_ in a bathroom while you’re in the midst of an anxiety attack and I almost broke the door hinging.”

Harry was smiling up at Louis like he hung the moon and stars, and Louis couldn’t _handle_ it as he towelled the last few drops of water from his hair like he was being paid to do it.

“I think, as I watched you perform, my subconscious was deciding for me that once I’d gotten my inevitable rejection, I’d go straight home to Donny and drive me mum mental with the phone bill voting for you when you made it through to the round after Judges’ Houses. I had no doubt in my mind that you’d make it, not with your cute schoolboy curls and your stupid dimples and those breathtaking eyes and your stupidly, stupidly perfect voice.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the glimmering memory, wrapped up in golden silk in the treasure trove of his mind. “I can’t even remember singing my own solo, to be completely honest. I had been so wrapped up in watching you that my brain forgot how to function and I was just a shaking pale mess up on that stage when it was my turn. But I _do_ remember that when got through, you ran up to me and almost knocked me over because you hugged me so hard, and I knew that fate was dealing me a kind hand because I got to see you for just a little longer, this curly and nervous boy from Holmes Chapel that I, a little insignificant kid from Donny, got to say I had met first.” He finally dropped the towel and tugged the shirt over his head, the collar hanging a little low and the clothing piece baggy on his slight frame, but he hardly noticed as he continued.

“Bootcamp was weird for me, but I think you know that because despite my musical experiences, I’m fairly awful at acting. I felt like I shouldn’t have been there, that I didn’t deserve my three yeses from the judges, not when I was among these incredible singers and musicians with lifetimes of experience. It almost felt like it had all been rigged, y’know? Or it was some kind of fever dream because I knew that I didn’t belong there.”

“You did belong there,” Harry cut in softly, voice breaking. “You really, really did. You deserved it more than any of us.”

Louis flushed bright red and waved a dismissive hand in Harry’s direction before continuing. “I figured that, like, as soon as I sang again they’d realise their mistake and kick me out, delete all of the footage of me, completely erase me from the show. But - - “

He broke off and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of Harry, who was still perched on the lip of the bunk bed, watching Louis’ every move.

“But somehow, I got put in the same group as you when it was time for eliminations, and I didn’t even think about being sent home anymore because there was no plausible situation in my mind that would result in you not making it through. And then - - “ Louis’ smile turned a fraction sadder as he looked up and met Harry’s blooming emerald eyes. “Well. You were there, too. You remember when we got rejected. I thought we were done for, figured I’d never see any of you guys again. But then they put us all together in a group and all I could really think about was the fact that I got to keep you and the boys for a little longer.”

He trailed off and couldn’t help himself as he grabbed one of Harry’s hands, turning it over, running a finger down the centre of his palm as Harry sniffled and let out a quiet, “Louis.”

“But that wasn’t the end,” he continued, voice softening again as he stroked over Harry’s skin so reverently that it could’ve been seriously questionable. “I was so scared it was going to be over because, y’know, we were all separate auditionees, you can’t exactly expect miracles out of that by throwing us all together and hoping that we can scrape through the next round of the competition.”

He paused, and blue met green.

“But I was wrong to worry, because as soon as we sang together, I - - I couldn’t possibly imagine us not deserving to be here. It’s something special, something that feels like, out of this world, you know? It’s _better_ than magic, because magic is weird and it doesn’t make sense, but this - - it just _fits_. And I think you feel that way too. You _know_ it, too."

Harry nodded twice, sure, watching Louis dance his fingers across his palm. "Yeah,” he whispered, the croaky quality of his voice the only real reminder of his breakdown. “Yeah, I know it.”

There were a few beats of silence where they just watched each other, Louis still stroking over Harry’s palm and watching the younger steady his breathing, watching the panic slowly dissolve from his green eyes. Harry had started sniffling again, but he was smiling at the same time, one of the gorgeous ones that brought out his irresistible dimples, and he slid down into Louis’ lap on the floor. The movement startled a small sound out of the back of Louis’ throat as Harry tossed his lanky arms around Louis’ waist and buried his face in the older boy’s neck, but he didn’t do anything, letting Harry get comfortable in his arms, straddling him.

“Thank you, Lou,” he murmured, and Louis pulled him closer instead of answering because he could feel his own set of tears welling in his eyes.

\--

It didn’t matter that it was one of the few places he’d always dreamed of being, one of those areas where he felt most himself, the taste of uncontrolled freedom on his lips because in reality, Harry had only been performing on stage a whopping three times and was completely new to the whole theatrics behind a _professional_ stage.

Even those three performances seemed less impressive when he considered what each of them had been. Two of which had been on the _X-Factor_ stage, his initial audition and his bootcamp solo, and the amount of manufacturing the show went under before each and every moment a contestant had in the spotlight almost invalidated those as real performances. Which left his performance with _White Eskimo_ at _Battle of the Bands_ as his only raw, spirited performance in front of an audience.

That didn’t necessarily douse his gut feeling that being on stage was the true meaning of his life, mind you. It didn’t douse it, even though he was standing next to people such as Liam and Aidan and hell, even _Louis,_ despite the older boy’s self-deprecation, with his musical performances back in high-school, who were seasoned when it came to standing on a stage and embracing the manic energy. It didn’t douse any of the flames burning in his being because he _knew_ that his life was going to revolve around a stage.

He just wished the pounding anxiety in his head would agree with him.

Liam was pacing, singing in a low voice under his breath the parts he was most likely to forget, back and forth across the length of the room as the last set on stage was cleaned away, the stage cleared of any remaining debris. Zayn was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette with his eyelashes fluttering on each inhale, looking like a painting in all of his glory. Harry and Niall were frolicking around the room, shouting random parts of the song at each other to see if they’d memorised it before they broke out into anxious and hysterical laughter, throwing objects at each other whenever they could control themselves again.

Louis was splayed across the sofa in the room backstage, too afraid to say anything as he turmoiled internally.

His eyes flickered back over to the stage and he all but leapt from his place on the couch as he processed one of the crew members counting down before the crowd roared to life and the camera refocused. Dermot's voice sounded strange over the noise of the hoots and applause, almost like it was coming through bad quality phone speakers instead of the first-class speakers placed strategically throughout the huge stage setup.

"Making their live debut performance, it’s the last of the Groups and Simon."

"Right," Louis heard Simon say over the deafening noise, "My last act up tonight: get ready, it’s One Direction."

And then there was a video of then playing on the screens, the footage from their formation as a band being broadcasted to the entire nation again and Louis felt the urge to cry rise and _no,_ he was _not_ going to cry as he turned to round up the boys, already finding them by his side before he tugged them into a tight embrace.

“Right,” he said in a raspy tone, rubbing at his eyes to stop them from watering as he flung his arms around Harry and Zayn’s shoulders on either side of him, feeling Liam’s hand brush his own and Harry’s ridiculously huge hand brush against the sensitive skin of his throat. “We’re going to do this,” he told them firmly, no room for discussion. “We are going to do this and blow the judges and the crowd out of the fucking _water_. We are _not_ going home tomorrow night, I won’t let it happen, okay? We’re going to nail this like it’s nothing."

The other four nodded vigorously, Harry fisting a hand in the back of Louis’ shirt, the video ends, the beginning of _Viva La Vida_ boomed over the speakers, and then they were running out on to the stage.

It was pure adrenaline in Louis’ veins on that stage, there was no other explanation for it as he glanced at his boys, grinning absolutely wildly, uncontrollably, like he was losing his mind right there on that stage. He thought perhaps he wasn’t the only one, if the trembling of Harry’s hands and the sparkle in Zayn’s eyes were any indicator, any hint at how his bandmates were feeling because _they were onstage together, like it was meant to be._

That didn’t mean it was perfect, not at all, because Zayn remained a little out of time with Niall and Niall’s microphone was too loud so his backing vocals almost overpowered the rest of theirs and Harry came a bit offkey before Louis roped him back in with a meeting of their eyes across the back of Liam’s shoulders, something that couldn’t have been prevented if Louis’ life depended on it, because Harry looked so wild and happy that he would never be able to look away.

But.

It was like every cliché performance in every movie and book ever, because it still felt absolutely, breathtakingly perfect, because it was the five of them together after fate put them there by each other’s sides, Louis and Harry and Liam and Zayn and Niall, and they were _annihilating_ the competition, Louis knew it. He sang his entire fucking heart out, feeling the eyes of Simon trained on him and his boys and he grinned so wide his eyes crinkled in the corners like he was looking at the sun because he’d found that feeling, was addicted to it, was never going to let it go.

As Liam belted out his final lyric and Louis tugged him close without even thinking about it, the crowd blew up.

It didn’t stop, either, couldn’t possibly have stopped, the boys having to adjust their in-ears to even fathom being able to hear Louis Walsh and Cheryl and Dannii and Simon over the screams and violent claps.

“You look like you were meant to be together as a group.”

As they tumbled off stage in a tangle of boys and limbs, Louis’ blood and bone must’ve been replaced with pure, undiluted adrenaline, because his veins were screaming along with the crowd behind them and his ears couldn’t stop ringing as he ripped the in-ears out and handed them to the nearest assistant. The boys were absolutely _manic_ with the energy, bouncing around and shouting and hugging each other, and as Louis broke away from Zayn with tears threatening to spill over his eyelashes, Harry - -

 _“Lou,”_ he _moaned,_ curls splayed everywhere, uncontrollable and damp from sweat. He was flushed in the cheeks, lips bitten all red and raw and his eyes were dark and sparkling with something that had Louis’ insides on _fire,_ burning and burning, his brain melting out of his ears as Harry gripped the front of his shirt and tugged Louis to him, and Louis couldn’t catch his breath as Harry kept on scrabbling at him, looking for something to hold on to.

“Lou,” he begged again, biting at his lip as his eyelids fluttered and Louis was going to keel over. “Louis, I - - I need to do something, need to go somewhere, have - - “

“Hazza,” Louis started, pressing their foreheads together and Harry was panting from the after-show adrenaline, fidgeting and unable to stand still as he gripped at Louis’ shoulders with iron fists. “Hazza, calm down - - “

Then there was a violent jerk on Louis, arm, yanking from away from Harry as they were pulled in separate directions and thrown in front of camera to give individual post-show interviews, and Louis couldn’t _breathe,_ couldn’t do anything other than burn from the inside out, still able to see Harry’s shaking figure over his interviewer’s shoulder. Harry was still looking at Louis every few seconds, lips parted and Louis swore he himself stopped breathing as Harry licked his lips before they were all pushed together for one more session in front of a camera as a group.

Harry couldn’t look away from Louis, and Louis fancied he could envision the curly-headed boy’s blood thrumming in his veins with something like desperation and crazed excitement, but neither of them said anything as they continued to steal glances at each other, biting their lips and grinning like idiots because - -

They’d done it. They’d _fucking done it._

Louis couldn’t stop grinning and hugging the boys, teary-eyed and abdomen still burning away from Harry’s touch, but he couldn’t care less.

Because they’d done it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTES:  
> \- I, erm, I couldn't help myself with all the sexual tension. I think you guys have noticed that by now.  
> \- always have to have a little bit of worship over Louis' phenomenal arse. He KNOWS it's phenomenal.  
> \- This chapter sort of has the first real introduction into Harry's anxiety, and it's going to be a prominent thing throughout the fic because I myself suffer from severe anxiety and understand the complexities of it. I'm so incredibly proud of Harry and how far he's come despite experiencing this type of thing.  
> \- We obviously don't know for sure the details about the contracts the boys had to sign, especially considering that the reality of their lives is so far removed from the public narrative we've been given that it's laughable. I'm sure within that, a little contract change isn't too hard to believe.  
> \- Louis' gay. That's it, that's the note. And I love him so much.  
> That's all for now. Next chapter will be out in a week, as per usual!


	4. 6th of October 2010 - 16th of October 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis had bounced off stage, absolutely high on adrenaline and ready to celebrate making it through to the second week of the competition with his favourite curly-headed bastard when he’d found him headfirst in a bin, emptying his guts while crying quietly and shaking so hard he’d looked like he was about to fall apart at the seams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> there are explicit mentions of eating disorders in this chapter, alongside vague mentions of self-harm and suicide. there's also an explicit anxiety attack (not so explicit, but it's happening), so please, if any of that triggers you, don't read this chapter. feel free to dm me on twitter (lousvoid_) if you want me to catch you up on what happens instead.

_(6 th of October)_

Harry looked over the crowd of thousands and wondered if any other boybands in history felt like the weight of the stares from the audience would crush them into useless pulps.

He didn’t really think so, to be honest. Not many boybands from the past had seemed any sort of morbidly intelligent, not even the _Backstreet Boys,_ who probably came the closest (there wasn’t really any reasoning behind that thought beyond Harry just getting that kind of vibe from them).

If Harry’s mind was a physical presence on the overwhelmingly impressive stage, it would’ve been clear to see that he was barely focused. He’d zoned in just enough to process Dermot reading out a few names of who had made it through to the second week of the live shows, _Belle Amie_ and _Diva Fever_ being the two he remembered in his half there, half not, state of being. Six of the solos had also already been called through, the tension between the few acts remaining in the spotlight so intense that Harry thought he may have been about to pass out. He thought he could feel the ghost of gentle, calming fingers lacing around his forearm, but he couldn’t quite place who it was or if it were really real.

“Next act through to the second week is… Wagner!”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Zayn hissed from Harry’s right, just loud enough for the people surrounding him to hear. Louis snickered and Harry fancied he heard Niall or, hell, maybe it was _Simon_ vaguely agree, but Harry just inhaled sharply, desperately trying to ignore the gross taste of bile in the back of his throat and putting all of his energy into frowning instead.

The sour taste seemed to grow in strength as Rebecca was called next and Harry forgot how to breathe. Whoever was gripping his arm like a lifeline squeezed so hard he hissed through gritted teeth, but it wasn’t enough to anchor him to Earth, wasn’t enough to calm the almost manic energy sizzling through his veins, the instinct to fight battling with the instinct to run away and never emerge into the light of day again clashing like no tomorrow. He was almost robotic in his clapping for Bex, shaking his curls out as his vision went blurry and his head spun out of control, like he was flying in his own mind.

He was going to be sick. He couldn’t _breathe._

“Returning to this stage next week is… Mary Byrne.”

The longer they were forced to remain still under the spotlights despite the roaring energy in their veins, in front of all the heated and judgemental stares, the worse Harry felt. Forget the endless pit of adrenaline from the night before after their performance, forget the way his blood had been pounding in his ears and he’d been jumping everywhere and he’d been grinning so wide he’d feared his face was going to split open. Forget all of that and replace that bravado with a shaking, quivering boy who was going to fall apart at the seams.

His skin was prickling with goosebumps and he still couldn’t breathe properly, erratic gasps for air all he could manage, vision swimming again as his eyes took on a watery quality and he rubbed at them fiercely. He was sweating profusely, was definitely going to earn a half-arsed scolding from Kaya later for sweating off the ridiculous amount of makeup he’d been forced into, but he couldn’t even fathom concentrating on that when he was still trying to fix his lungs and make them _work._ Zayn and Liam were comforting weights pressed into his sides, Liam’s fingers around his forearm – oh, so they were Liam’s, right, he was making progress if he could process that – a solid presence, something keeping him from completely floating away, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Louis, who had been shooting him worried glances since they took to the stage despite making little jabs at most of the contestants who had been called through to the next round, eventually just reached around and wrapped his arm around Harry's waist to pull him closer, jostling Zayn in the process.

Harry didn’t think to thank him, couldn’t possibly have been functional enough for that, but Louis could definitely tell that he was one of the only things keeping Harry’s shaking knees from giving out from underneath him.

“The next act that will be here for next week’s show is…”

Harry prayed to whatever had created the human race that it was them. Of course he did, because he couldn’t possibly stand it if they’d beaten all the odds thrown at them from every side only for them to be knocked down and out in the first round. He couldn’t stand the idea of having to let the dream go, having to say goodbye to his five best-friends in the entire damn world. He _couldn’t._ He wanted to be there another week, another five weeks with his boys on that stage, wanted to prove to Simon and the rest of the eyes trained on them from all across the nation and possibly even _further_ that they were worth paying attention to, worth giving hope to.

But, on the flip side of things, Harry also wanted to be as far as physically possible from the stage and the hungry eyes of the audience of thousands trained on him like he was a fresh slab of meat in a market.

“One Direction!"

Harry didn’t have enough strength to do much more than sigh in relief and turn to wrap everybody in a weak embrace, Louis arm still anchoring him to Earth.

He broke away and jogged offstage without another word, feeling the bile rise in the back of his throat again.

Harry’s luck must’ve been through the roof that night, because he couldn’t have withheld much longer when he found the nearest bin to the stage and fell to his knees, coughing and choking as he vomited up whatever he’d eaten last, eyes watering. He thought he heard gentle voices nearby, thought he heard Louis’ soft voice in his ear and gentle hands in his curls and someone else’s steadying hand on his back, but he couldn’t be sure as he began to cry weakly, body shaking as he collapsed in on himself, the disgusting aftertaste of vomit still on his tongue.

 _One week down_ , he thought miserably, barely coherent, even in his mind as his eyes fluttered closed and he continued to cry, Louis still whispering calmingly in his ear as someone pulled him back gently from the bin and pressed the lip of a bottle of water to his bitten lips. _Nine more to go_.

_(11 th of October)_

A few moments of bliss on that stage had been all Louis and the boys had been gifted when it came to them making it through to the next round.

There was something up with Harry. Which was indeed the reason their joyous behaviour hadn’t lasted too long.

Louis had bounced off stage, absolutely high on adrenaline and ready to celebrate making it through to the second week of the competition with his favourite curly-headed bastard when he’d found him headfirst in a bin, emptying his guts while crying quietly and shaking so hard he’d looked like he was about to fall apart at the seams.

He’d gotten down right there on the floor with Harry and worked his skilled fingers through the untameable curls in the way he knew got Harry all pliant and boneless, had whispered praise and reassurances into the younger boy’s ear, to no avail. Zayn had joined them and rested a steady hand in the dip between Harry’s shoulders, running his thumb over the skin through the shirt, also to no avail. Liam had forced water down Harry’s throat like his life depended on it while Niall had made stupid jokes and sat down next to Harry, letting the boy brace some of his weight against the blonde, _to no avail._

Louis had been too afraid to leave Harry on his own after that, fearful of the curly-headed boy doing something stupid, whatever that stupid thing actually _was_ (he didn’t want to focus on it), he and the boys slowly having coaxed Harry to his feet and into the back of the van instructed to return them to the _House._ They’d cradled the curly-headed boy like he was a glass sculpture through the whole journey, talking to him the whole time despite it being clear Harry was gone in his own head, staticky and unable to process what they’d been saying.

They hadn’t bothered trying to get him to shower, Louis instead just slowly wiping the remaining makeup off Harry’s face and helping him undress before he’d dragged Harry into Louis’ own bunk, the younger’s back pressed to his front, all heated and sweaty and naked, but Louis hadn’t cared much, only focusing on keeping him safe. Liam had handed him a cold washcloth that he’d wiped up and down Harry’s freakishly soft skin, Harry only strong enough to make soft noises of acknowledge in the back of his throat as Louis took care of him. Niall had started strumming his guitar in a soothing tune, Zayn and Liam harmonizing along, and Harry had drifted off into sleep without uttering a single word, wrapped up in Louis’ arms.

It had been five days though, and Harry hadn’t gotten any better.

He’d shared Louis’ bunk with him for the entirety of those five days, barely motivated to get out of bed and do anything, not even cook or sing. He’d eaten a grand total of one bag of chips, something that sparked endless worry in the pit of Louis’ gut because usually Harry couldn’t stop eating, smack bang in that teen phase where he couldn’t stop being hungry.

If it were under any other circumstances, Louis would be absolutely ecstatic to have Harry in his bed. The entire _House_ knew that, theorised they’d probably been building up to it, but - -

It didn’t mean that he _wasn’t_ overjoyed to be in that situation, it was just – you know, the whole thing where Harry wasn’t _okay,_ the thing where his worry for his best-friend was too powerful for him to really think properly. 

The first day _(7 th of October) _after the whole debacle of finding Harry headfirst in a bin just off stage, Louis had woken up to Harry tumbling out of bed and to the bathroom, followed by a violent retching noise, a soft sob coming shortly after. He’d slid out of bed after Harry, just in his boxers and had sat down on the tiled floor beside the toilet, just gently stroking through Harry’s hair as he’d choked on sobs and puked up whatever had been left in his stomach.

“I’ve got you,” Louis was murmuring over and over again into Harry’s ear, just softly working through the curls as Zayn wordlessly threw him a bottle of water from the doorway, having undoubtedly heard all the noise and come to check it out. Niall and Liam had told them the night before they’d be down in the studio with Savan for the morning to practice some things, so they weren’t around.

“Should I, I don’t know, get someone?” Zayn asked quietly as Harry reared up over the toilet again and coughed so violently Louis was afraid his lungs were going to burst. Louis gripped Harry’s shoulder so hard his knuckles turned white as he responded to Zayn in a breaking voice, “No. He wouldn’t want that.”

“Right now, I don’t think it matters what he wants,” Zayn argued softly. “He looks like he’s about to die, Louis.”

Louis didn’t want to agree with him, he really didn’t, but he _had_ to, there wasn’t really any other choice. Harry was so pale he looked like he was about to pass out, and he was breathing so hard that Louis was afraid of him not ever getting enough oxygen, and Zayn must’ve thought the same because he was moving over and helping Harry to his feet within a few moments, Harry mumbling something under his breath that sounded like _no, don’t_ and Louis’ heart clenched unrelentingly in his chest as he helped Zayn get Harry’s limbs under control.

“No, no, I’ve got him,” Zayn said with a sad smile to accompany his words. “You go get him a bucket. And bring the water-bottle I just threw at you. He’ll need them.”

Louis had no intentions of letting go of Harry’s trembling figure, and it physically hurt him to pull away, especially as Harry made a weak, half-unconscious effort to grab at his tanned skin and make him stay.

They’d set him up on Louis’ bunk, tossing the sol silky blanket in the room over his shaking body, Louis bringing the bucket and water-bottle while Zayn called Esther and asked for her to make Harry a hot-chocolate the way the curly-haired boy loved it most. Esther had complied and quickly brought it up to them, helping Harry drink it by tilting the mug and sitting cross-legged next to him on Louis’ bunk. Harry had kept it down for half an hour before he’d twisted and promptly thrown it back up into the bucket beside him on the bunk.

He didn’t eat anything that day.

The second day _(8 th of October)_, right at the start, Louis hadn’t slept the night before and Harry had slept past eleven-thirty, too worn out to do much else.

Before Harry had woken up, Louis had crawled downstairs, all sleep-deprived and messy, haven barely been functional to throw on some sweat-pants; Niall had stayed upstairs with Harry to watch him, just in case of anything. He hadn’t acknowledged anybody else there, instead opting to grab one of the bowls of pasta Geneva from _Belle Amie_ had set down on the countertop before he retreated back upstairs to wait for Harry to wake up.

Harry had taken one look at the pasta and promptly thrown up into the bucket.

He managed to keep some water down, but not nearly enough. Louis couldn’t help but feel helpless.

The third day _(9 th of October)_ was more or less the same, but the fourth day _(10 th of October) _showed a little bit of promise, even if it was small. Niall managed to convince Harry to eat a bag of chips, and Harry had miraculously been able to keep it down. Louis hadn’t been able to resist wrapping Harry up in a soft embrace, smiling into Harry’s curls as the rest of the boys had piled on, cautious, not wanting to make Harry uncomfortable or sick again. Harry had laughed gently, pawing at them with a little, “Lads, m’fine, seriously,” to which Louis just sighed and pulled him closer.

So, as Louis woke up to Harry’s back pressed against his bare chest on the fifth morning, he had a mission: to get him out of bed and get him to _eat._

“Hazza?” He murmured softly, arms that had subconsciously looped around Harry’s waist every single night tightening and squeezing slightly, making Harry squirm and make a small happy noise in the back of his throat, weak and raspy. “Hazza, babes, you gotta get up. You need to eat something proper, love. Not jus’ some chips.”

 _“Mmph,”_ was all he got in return as Harry pressed back into his grip, pulling the blanket up and over his face in a childish attempt at hiding. Louis tutted in the back of his throat, smiling sadly as he breathed out into the back of Harry’s neck, the younger shivering as goosebumps rose along his pale, classically British skin.

“Haz, please,” Louis begged quietly, running his hands soothingly up and down the overheated skin on Harry’s stomach underneath the blanket, gently fisting a hand in the soft material and yanking it downwards so the curly-headed boy could breathe fresh air instead of whatever stale oxygen the blanket had trapped. “Please, you have to eat something, even if it’s small. I can’t stand to see you like this, and neither can anyone else.”

He wasn’t wrong, not in the slightest. The entire _House_ loved Harry, quirks and all, and it hurt all of them to see him so quiet and wounded. Even if Louis had been too distracted to properly notice it, they’d all been more careful around him, babying him whenever he’d found the strength to leave the bunks and trying to convince him to eat and drink and shower, often with no success (aside from the sole packet of chips Niall had convinced him to eat). Cher, Katie and Esther made him hot chocolates the way he liked them best while Bex and the _Belle Amie_ girls gossiped with him about a vast collection of people in their lives, only bringing the old Harry back for a little while before he disappeared again. It shocked Louis that Zayn and Liam hadn’t been able to get him to do anything, and even Aidan for that matter, the three of them almost, if not as close with Harry as Louis and Niall.

“I can’t,” Harry mumbled, voice weak and cracking, curls matted and sweaty from two days without showering. He must’ve been awfully dehydrated, so Louis reached for the water bottle he’d discarded behind himself the night prior and pressed it to Harry’s lips.

“Drink, then,” he said. “We can work our way up to you eating again.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as he took a singular sip, coughing a little, before he shakily took the bottle from Louis’ hands and drank some more, body quivering.

“Already feel sick again,” he complained quietly, cuddling closer to Louis and letting the older of the two take the water bottle back.

Louis hummed in recognition, putting the water bottle down and allowing his palms to drift back to Harry’s tummy and stroke over the sensitive skin where the butterfly drawing had been washed off. Harry squirmed again but didn’t make any move to indicate that Louis should’ve stopped, so he kept on stroking, the tips of his fingers undoubtedly ticklish.

“We’re filmin’ the next video diary today,” Louis told him in a gentle voice, hearing noise start up from downstairs that sounded like Niall but he couldn’t be entirely sure of. “We need our charmer, otherwise s’gonna be borin’.”

“No,” Harry retorted through a weak sound that sounded like a disbelieving snort. “No, it’s never boring when you’re there. You’re too loud to allow it to get boring.”

Louis laughed before he crawled out from behind Harry, the younger whining high in the back of his throat as a form of protest as his bare back was met with cold air. Louis laughed again, sliding down to the floor and yanking the blankets back off Harry, the younger curling in on himself and getting out a little _Lou_ in protest. Louis grabbed both of his wrists and tugged firmly, pulling Harry down and off the bunk and catching him when he squawked in loud protest and batted half-heartedly at his friend. Louis promptly ignored the whole expanse of naked Harry Styles in front of him, instead reaching for the nearest towel and slinging it around the curly-headed boy’s broad shoulders.

“Go for a shower,” he started gently, running a soft hand through the dandruffy curls and grimacing a little. “Put on one of your nicer shirts and come down to where we filmed the first video so we can do the second one and the camera crew doesn’t get pissy.”

Harry didn’t say a word as he moved dutifully towards the bathroom door, Louis watching him as closely as possible to make sure he listened without flat-out staring at Harry’s cute little bare arse in the dim light of the bunk room.

Because, apparently, Harry wasn’t just naked at the bungalow or in his alone time – he was naked _all the time._ His complete lack of self-consciousness (except when it came to his love-handles, but Louis loved those so much that the curly-headed boy didn’t really care anymore) was something admirable, the way he felt so comfortable just walking around the _House_ in complete nudity. Louis may have been included in the group that admired his confidence, but it _also_ increased the time he spent in the bathroom because it was the only place he could find complete solitude for an entirely unsatisfying wank, what with the bustling life surrounding him on all sides. And then Louis had a naked Harry in his bed for six days but couldn’t truly enjoy it because of how deep in his own head his best-friend was and Louis’ undiluted loyalty to him and commitment to making sure he was okay.

Half an hour later, after Harry had gotten dressed and Louis had gotten his fringe under some ounce of control, Louis had coaxed Harry to drink some more water, and Harry had promptly vomited it straight back up into the toilet. His body had been trembling as Louis tugged him into a warm embrace, just whispering soft reassurances to him over and over in an attempt to calm him down as Harry had fallen into him, all pliant and _soft_ , body empty and eyes watering with tears as much as they’d been from the throwing up. Louis had honestly been worrying about Harry having spontaneously developed some kind of - - some kind of eating disorder, or something, having felt his heart kicking in fear in his chest like it was aiming for explosion because _Christ,_ he would have no clue what to do if Harry had anorexia or anything of the sort because he didn’t know how to handle that type of thing.

Ten minutes after that, they tried again, and Harry managed to keep the water down, alongside three crackers and a piece of cheese that Louis snagged from the small fridge in the bunk room. Louis’ fears over an eating disorder had been muted a little, but not entirely because seriously, he didn’t know what else it could’ve been, having never experienced it himself before.

Fifteen minutes after _that,_ Harry and Louis had joined the others on the staircase and the cameras were officially rolling for their second video diary entry. Louis felt a warm hand brush down the centre of his spine, soft, barely there, out of sight of the cameras, and he sat up a little straighter.

“Louis is the leader,” Harry proclaimed with a soft, weak, fond smile and Louis may have been a rather experienced actor (if musicals counted, which they did in Louis’ opinion) but he couldn’t possibly have pretended his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest in delight and _warmth._ He faced the camera and gave one of those expressions that wordlessly translated into _duh, of course I am,_ adding a less-than modest shrug in for good measure, attempting uselessly to control his joy at how Harry seemed just a fraction livelier, more like himself.

Until Harry ruined it, smirking as he tacked on, “’Cause that’s the only one that’s left.”

Louis spluttered in mock offense, dramatically holding a hand over his heart, but he couldn’t suppress the smile taking over his face as he turned to the front again and burrowed into his jacket that smelled faintly of Zayn’s sister’s perfume he’d stolen.

Embarrassed by his own mushiness towards the curly-headed boy, perfection wrapped in silk, he yelled out possibly the most explicit thing he’d be allowed to in the diaries, “I like girls who… eat carrots!”

And Harry laughed, all raspy and deep, and all felt good.

\--

Afterwards, when the camera crews had packed up their gear, satisfied with the content they’d gotten, the boys didn’t move from the staircase. Harry had cuddled into Zayn’s side, looking all soft and warm, face relaxed yet scarily pale, a reminder of how under the weather he was still feeling.

“Feelin’ any better, Haz?” Liam asked quietly as they all moved in closer, Louis twisting to lay against Zayn’s shoulder as Niall sprawled across the eldest’s lap, blonde hair messy and in need of re-bleaching, if the hazel roots beginning to faintly show were any indicator. “You look a bit more, I don’t know, alive?”

Harry snorted faintly, humming in appreciation as Zayn scratched his long nails across his scalp. “I don’t feel much better,” he admitted, eyes fluttering shut. “Had a bit to eat, though. Haven’t thrown it up yet. Lou helped.”

Eyes turned to him and Louis gave an _actual_ modest shrug, heat flushing in his cheeks. “Just wanted to help,” he said earnestly, scratching behind his ear. “He got some water down, too. S’better than it’s been for five days.”

“I ate a day ago,” Harry protested, but Louis hushed him with a gentle, half-arsed glare and he fell back into Zayn’s embrace again, the darker skinned boy silent as he continued to stroke through Harry’s curls.

“Do you know what’s up?” Niall asked in a timid voice that Louis had never heard before, and he instinctively clutched the blonde Irish boy a little closer. “Like, why you’re so… _Off?”_

Harry hummed a little, eyes still closed and hands trembling again.

“Think s’my anxiety,” he explained after a moment of silence, voice quiet. “Stuff like - - like this happens after stressful events or like, things happen that scare me. It’s - - it’s been happening for years, yeah, like, basically my whole life. Sometimes it only lasts a few hours, other times days, sometimes weeks and the worst ones go for a month or so.”

He shuddered in Zayn’s grip, as if remembering such a situation, and the ache in Louis’ chest was so violent he just had to reach over and interlace his finger’s with Harry’s. Harry squeezed his hand in thanks, and Louis squeezed back, hand dwarfed in Harry’s ridiculously huge one in such a manner that sent Louis’ mind reeling.

“Can you like, feel if this one is nearly over?” Liam asked in a small voice, brows furrowed as he contemplated. He was watching Harry with a gaze akin to that of an overprotective mother and Louis usually would have laughed and swatted him over the head and scolded him for being too serious, but he couldn’t possibly do that then, couldn’t even remotely think of doing it because he was just as, if not _more,_ worried.

Harry sighed and then shook his head.

Louis wordlessly kicked Niall off him and crawled into Harry’s lap, Harry pulling him close and Louis wrapping his arms around the curly-headed boy’s neck. Niall, grumbling, scrambled on to their cuddle pile, pressing and curling in on Zayn’s side with Liam coming down the side of the stairs and cuddling into Louis’ own ribs, making him squawk a little _hey, stop that, I’m too bony to experience abuse from your elbow,_ but he was smiling sadly as he huddled in closer to Harry.

It was warm and muggy and kind of gross having all five slightly-damp-with-sweat boys tangled together in a non-airconditioned staircase, but those things didn’t matter.

Because Louis could feel Harry relaxing like he always did at night as he curled up in his (Louis’) bed, when he knew he was _safe._

\--

At dinner that night, Harry didn’t cook anything, having been subjected to Esther and Cher babying him like he was a million-dollar glass sculpture. They’d been wrapping him up in warm and silky blankets and making him hot chocolates and keeping him confined to the sole comfy chair in the kitchen – a new black, almost loveseat like thing, so soft somebody could sink into it and never remerge. It was a new addition to the previously bland room, thanks to Sophia from _Belle Amie_ and Zayn begging some of the PAs for permission to ‘spice it up’, resulting in spray paint art _everywhere_ and explicit signs that had Louis and Niall cracking up whenever they found a new one and disapproving glares from anybody that wasn’t a contestant that strolled through.

Instead, Louis was curled around Harry like a mother cat on the comfy chair, watching Zayn and Bex through fluttering and tired eyelids as they concocted some sort of dinner that actually didn’t smell too bad. Harry was drifting in and out of sleep, zoning out and letting his eyes flit shut before a loud _crash_ sounded and he was ultimately startled out of his half-slumber. His curls had rubbed themselves into horrible knots that Louis was combing out gently with his fingers (another factor that contributed to the way Harry was close to dropping away into sleep, but he’d never admit that verbally) and his hands were a bit shaky where they were clasped over the lip of the silky blanket Esther and Cher had found him.

Aidan was spread out lazily across the floor in front of the couch, nails tapping at the screen of his phone as he multi-tasked, alternating between focusing on what he was typing, looking fondly at Harry and Louis, and _also_ looking fondly at Niall and Matt throwing popcorn into each other’s open mouths (which wasn’t going exactly _well,_ but it wasn’t going terribly, so Louis supposed they deserved at least a little credit for not getting popcorn everywhere). Most of the other contestants were positioned at the kitchen island, Liam and the _Belle Amie_ girls deep in discussion while Cher, Katie, Mary and _Diva Fever_ listened on, looking engaged and entertained.

Just as Harry drifted off into that soothing endless depth of sleep, Zayn called out from the stovetop in a cheeky voice as he jerked at the pan, Bex watching him judgementally, “Okay, so, erm, _F.Y.D’s_ empty room is going to be the sex room, right? That I mentioned ages ago?”

 _That_ startled Louis into almost waking Harry up again, that was for sure, the curly-headed boy having begun to snore gently. Niall and Matt paused their popcorn throwing, Niall looking like he was about to burst out into a fit of laughter at the scandalised expression on the latter’s face. Louis was actively fighting against giggling like a little schoolboy into the back of Harry’s neck while Aidan grinned, eyes sparkling as he watched Zayn through tired, half-lidded eyes try and locate the plates in the disorganised kitchen without breaking anything, Katie having gotten up from her seat to help as Bex giggled so hard she looked light-headed.

To be fair, it was pretty late at night for such conversations, so Louis couldn’t blame anyone for the startled and enthused expressions.

“The _what_ now?” Liam squeaked from the kitchen island, watching Zayn through wide eyes as his hands fidgeted on the marble countertop, Geneva from _Belle Amie_ ultimately reaching out and firmly planting a hand on top of his as a way to help him settle.

Louis might’ve been imagining it in his sleepy mind, but he swore up and down that Zayn’s eyes lingered on that little touch for too long for it to be normal.

“A sex room,” Cher chirped up, jumping to her feet and helping the others lay out the plates. “It makes sense for a thing like that to happen around here. Like, we can have it there if we want to bring someone in but have roommates or like, I don’t know, but yeah. We could keep it well stocked, y’know? It wouldn’t just be an empty room anymore. There’s one of those weird sex stores a few blocks down that we could go to if necessary.”

“You two seem to have thoroughly planned this,” Esther commented as she took a sip from her hot mocha, but Liam still looked a little shaky.

“Can you blame us?” Zayn retorted, rolling his eyes fondly and smacking Esther lightly over the head as he moved past to deposit the first two plates in the middle of the countertop. “Shit gets boring around here. Doesn’t hurt to put thought into things that could be useful.”

“A sex room, of all things?” Matt snorted playfully as he took a seat for himself. “Must have a very interesting mind, mister Malik.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow as if to challenge Matt, and Louis spied Liam preparing to quickly interject before they could argue with each other.

“So many things could go wrong with it, though,” he fretted from his place at the kitchen island, Louis’ body still pressed flush against Harry’s back as he waited for Liam to continue his little spiel. “Like, what if the lock breaks or, like, the walls aren’t soundproofed enough? Seems a bit weird t’me if you’re fine with listening to your bunkmates and friends have sex.”

“I see your point,” Louis conceded, but he was still grinning into Harry’s pale skin as his friend slept. “But if you grew up with a creep of a best-friend like the rest of us clearly did, you wouldn’t be so afraid of people hearing the noises you make during _sexual intercourse._ Pretty sure Stan and I have recordings of each other’s noises just because we can. I’m sure he’ll send the one of me to all of you once he gets all of your numbers, the pervert.”

Aidan guffawed on the floor, rolling on to his back while Niall doubled over where he was standing, holding his stomach like his intestines were going to fall out.

The conversation was effectively ended at that, everybody laughing too hard to really hope of saying something else. Louis also didn’t want to wake Harry back up, the curly-headed boy needing some well-deserved rest after an unrestful week.

It was continued joke for the rest of the night, brought up at the most awkward of times by everyone just to see another person choke or squirm uncomfortably or burst out into laughter. Cher and Louis teamed up to make a sparkly sign to hang on the doorknob of the room after Louis had carried Harry up to the bunks, the curly-headed boy still asleep as he’d been cocooned up in the blankets of Louis’ bunk. Zayn had helped them touch up the sign and even the door, spray-painted _sex room_ across the surface in bright red with a smirk on his face the entire time.

Liam went red in the cheeks every time he looked at it.

_(16 th of October)_

What little hope Louis and the others had possessed regarding Harry’s improvement went out like a light as the week went on.

He wasn’t exactly _worse,_ so to speak, considering he was eating more often without throwing it back up almost immediately. In the best cases, he kept it down, and in the worst cases, he could keep it down for an hour before it came back up. It was better than _not_ eating, that was for sure, but that didn’t mean everything was magically okay, because it certainly _wasn’t._

Harry may have been eating and drinking a little more than he had been before, but he wasn’t _himself._ He was moping everywhere, sadness and anxiousness pouring from every part of him, and it was making _Louis,_ king of light-heartedness, the one with the stupid jokes and humour, upset beyond belief. Seeing somebody like Harry, made of the most perfect parts of the world, so beautiful and authentic and _ethereal_ , all broken and torn up for a reason nobody knew was one of the most painful things Louis had ever had to experience in his life.

The curly-headed boy, usually so full of joy and ideas, didn’t talk as much, preferring to hang back in interviews they were forced into around the _X-Factor_ premises and let the others say everything and smiling all vacant when he figured it was appropriate. He was hollow and absent in the _House,_ usually keeping to himself or sometimes pressing himself into one of the boys’ sides and staying silent while they fussed over his shirt collar or his hair. He hit his marks in vocal training and choreography practice for the next show but it was like they were missing a part of the band, like there was a gap in the universe that Harry was naturally meant to fulfil.

Speaking of their next show, it was going to begin within the next half an hour.

It wasn’t like Harry was _trying_ to make everyone around him upset and worried. He’d never try to do that, not even to somebody he hated, because he’d _never_ wish the way he was feeling on anyone else.

He’d seriously thought that after Louis had spilled his entire heart out to him in the bunks, he’d be a little better at least. He’d be okay enough to perform and kill it as much as he could so they could make it through to another week of the _X-Factor._ And really, he _had_ actually been fine for a little bit afterwards, fine enough to be present for the video diary and motivated enough to shower and wash his hair (which had declined into a state that he never wanted it in again, ever).

And then he’d checked his Twitter and Instagram accounts for the first time since they’d made it past Judges’ Houses, and his mind had imploded.

All he’d seen in his mentions and tagged posts were caps-locked exclamations from various accounts begging him to tie them up and torture them, girls and boys alike screaming about having his children, kidnapping him and never letting him go, tied within endless compliments alongside endless hatred for him and his boys, saying they had something special and magical right before somebody else spat all over them with their words, calling them slags and whores and stupid, stupid boys who had no idea what the hell they’d gotten themselves into.

And he’d been gone, just like that, lost in his own head.

Simon hadn’t veiled it all from him, though, having informed him of that type of stuff in their meeting a lifetime ago (or at least, that was what it felt like to Harry), but it definitely hadn’t prepared Harry for actually _experiencing_ all of it. The lusting for him to be in somebody’s bed, young and old people alike vying for his attention like it cost a million dollars while others dragged his name through the mud like it was their speciality, like all they wanted was for him and the boys to _fail_. It didn’t matter that Simon had told him all about it, told him he’d be sexualised and objectified by a minority party within the general fanbase, didn’t matter that there were a substantial number of people supporting him and his four other bandmates, but that couldn’t possibly have changed how _awful_ it made Harry feel.

He had no idea how he was going to be marketed as a man whore if he couldn’t handle that type of attention.

He was being torn apart, and the ones doing it weren’t even close to being kind enough to do it quickly.

It was horribly melodramatic, something Louis would do as a joke, but Harry hated himself just a fraction more for dragging everybody into his internal mess by being a moping and depressed _asshole._ He knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was something he couldn’t control, all the knots in his stomach and the throwing up and the aversion to consuming anything, but it didn’t change the way he wanted it all to go away so he could stop being such a burden on everybody else. 

He can’t prove to himself to Simon, the other boys, or hell, the entire _nation_ that they were worth the hype when the very mention of performing in front of a screaming and clapping crowd sent Harry sprawling for the nearest bathroom and hurling his guts up.

He couldn’t hope to describe it as something other than a need to get away from the madness that was his new life, all twisted up in fame and reputation and every other damn thing people on television had to deal with, no matter how normal or strange they were.

He needed to call someone. Needed to feel like he was still himself instead of some pretty face thrown in front of thousands of hungry eyes every week for a little bit of attention.

He just needed a minute to be Harry Styles again.

But - -

But that didn’t seem to be much of an option.

“Okay, Harry, you keep missing your cue for the verse and it’s screwing with Zayn’s timing,” Savan got out through an exasperated sigh, making a violent hand-gesture towards Cher at the speaker to restart the backing track for the fourth time in the past two hours.

Harry had asked Savan in a quiet voice before rehearsals to give his solo to somebody else, and Savan had taken one look at Harry’s deathly pale voice and conceded in giving it to Liam. That didn’t mean Harry wasn’t under as much stress, mind you – missing his cue was a rather big thing, it turned out, because it was messing with when Zayn was supposed to come in with the complementary vocals to Harry’s.

And sure, he knew his cue, knew it like the back of his hand, but that didn’t change how he _also_ knew that if he was going to open his mouth, he was going to throw up right on the newly redone _X-Factor_ backstage carpet.

“Y’know what? Never mind, we’re gonna take a quick break,” Savan decided within a heartbeat of Cher restarting the song, and Harry breathed out an audible sigh of relief, rubbing at his temples anxiously.

Harry didn’t follow any of the other boys as they made their way over to the sofa against the wall, instead just slipping down on the floor and bringing his knees up to his chest with a shaky inhale.

Twenty minutes until he had to go out and perform in front of an audience that seemed to be waiting for him to screw up. How inviting.

He couldn’t really hear anything beyond his pounding heartbeat, thanks to the blood pounding in his ears and his head throbbing with every little movement he made. He felt a soft hand in the middle of his back that matched how Niall’s usually felt, rough and calloused through the curly boy’s thin shirt, but Harry was too focused on hiding his flushed and terrified face behind his trembling knees as his eyes fluttered closed and his breathing picked up in pace again. 

There was a dull sound on his left that sounded like Zayn and Liam’s footsteps and two soft voices on his right, but Harry couldn’t have hoped to decipher which was which as he whimpered and blinked fiercely to try and ward off the building tears, still not lifting his head from behind his knees.

He felt something wet and cold be pressed into his hand after some shuffling around, and he looked up.

“Drink up, babes,” Louis told him in a soft yet firm voice, harsh enough to tell Harry that it wasn’t debatable but gentle enough that it didn’t set him off into a panic. Harry took a tentative sip of the water, his stomach rolling unpleasantly, and he could taste the bile in the back of his throat as he valiantly fought off the instinct to throw it back up immediately. Instead, he forced himself to take a longer gulp, ignoring the way his vision swum and his head ached insistently.

Liam was in front of him then, too, right next to Louis as Harry dropped the water-bottle back into Louis’ waiting hands with a little, overwhelmed hiccup. Zayn was behind him and stroking his thumb over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, a small, grounding touch to keep him down on earth. Niall had an arm around his shoulders, surprisingly muscled and the blonde’s cool check was pressed against Harry’s temple and sure, it was relaxing, but it didn’t stop the sudden rise of anxiety in his chest as Liam passed him his own phone, already unlocked and opened to the contacts menu.

“What?” He croaked, confused.

“Call someone,” Liam said, offering him a kind smile and a thumbs up. “Your mum, that girl you’re really close with that was there with you at auditions, whoever. You look like you need it, Haz, so do it.”

He looked to Louis, a constant reassurance, still uncertain regarding if, _Christ,_ if he was _allowed_ to, so close to their performance, literally fifteen minutes before they were supposed to go on, and Louis just leaned forward on his knees to press their foreheads together, looking into Harry’s eyes.

“I can’t stand to see you upset,” he murmured. “We can stall if it takes too long, but you don’t have much time, so just - - just go. Call Katelyn, okay? I erm, I texted her, she’s expecting your call.”

He could feel his throat closing over as tears threatened to spill, and he got out a soft little _guys_ before Louis rocked back on his heels, his hands coming to rest on Harry’s shoulders, grip tight and warm, leaving no room for any sort of argument.

Harry had never loved them, _Louis,_ more than he did in that moment. He ignored the protesting swirl of nerves in his stomach and the blood pounding in his skull as he rose to his feet and quickly made his way over to the back exit that connected with the hallway directly linked to the spare storage closet that nobody used anymore. He shut himself in said closet, flicking the door locked behind him and he dialled Katelyn’s number with shaky and numb fingers, all clammy with sweat.

Some R&B song that sounded like one Zayn had blasted at the bungalow came through the speakers, accompanied by a harsh _shut the fuck up, Kasey, or I’ll smash your skull in_ before Katelyn’s voice audibly softened and she whispered a tinny, “Hello?”

“Katie,” Harry breathed out in answer, wiping fiercely at his eyes in an attempt to stop himself from crying.

“Hiya Haz,” his friend responded and he could hear the fond smile in her voice, making him sniffle loudly into the speaker phone. “I’ll admit that you scared me a bit. ‘Twas partying with some of the shitheads from school, y’know the coke dealers’ son and his friends? Yeah, them. They did weed in my fuckin’ kitchen, you’d think they’d know better considering their friend’s dad is a damn dealer. Some of the normal kids are here, too, the ones that’ve never touched drugs or alc in their whole lives, like Joselyn and Cara and hold on, I think Alex is here too, oh my god.” She was fully rambling, and Harry couldn’t suppress the fond little smile that crossed his facial features, undoubtedly matching his friend’s on the other side of the phone.

“Jonny’s here, too, if you wanna catch up wit’ him, or something. He might be totally smashed, though. Or maybe hookin’ up with Samantha, the girl he always eyes up, y’remember? Maybe he’s in a threesome wit’ Tom n’ her. Wouldn’t surprise me, to be completely honest. They’d all be down for it, I bet. Anyway, whoever taught you how to call somebody? I might need to lecture them, because seriously, rule number one, never have a _no caller ID_ thing, because the person you’re callin’ will think you’re a bloody scammer.”

Bless Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne and Niall Horan and Zayn Malik for just _knowing_ that Harry needed some semblance of familiarity to centre himself in the brief minutes before their performance. Bless Louis Tomlinson for knowing him so stupidly well that he’d basically been able to read his mind and text Katie prior to Harry calling her.

And bless Katelyn Salazaar for her ability to turn any tense conversation into something so relaxed it was unfiltered, humour and sarcasm mixed into one thing with the insane ability to create a distraction from any sort of stress that made everything that much funnier, that much easier to deal with.

Harry couldn’t have helped it as he choked on a weak laugh before a sob ripped its way through his vocal cords.

He let the words tumble past his bitten raw lips like a waterfall, everything from his meeting with Simon Cowell about things that should’ve have been relevant so early in the band’s music career, everything from the screaming fans on Twitter and Instagram, the production and camera crews who eye them like they’re stupid kids, to the creepy _Modest!_ staff members who seem to follow Louis and him _everywhere,_ watching with eagle-eyed gazes as though they were waiting for one of them to inevitably screw up, Louis with his flamboyancy, Harry with his stupid, uncontrollable curls and hell, even their other hyperactive bandmates, Liam with his insane work ethic, Niall with his terrifying questions, Zayn with his equally as terrifying answers and threats and Louis, Louis, _Louis._

Katie had gone silent on the other side of the phone, patiently waiting for him to finish, the music having been significantly dulled in volume (Harry guessed she’d retreated to her room, which she always kept off-limits to anybody besides herself, Harry, Jonny and Tom when she hosted house-parties). When he trailed off with another little sniffle into the phone, his entire weight resting on the door of the storage closet, she sighed sadly.

“Darling, you know what this is,” she murmured and Harry bit at his lip.

“Yeah,” was all he said in response.

“I mean, at least you have help while your mum and I aren’t there,” she offered in a light voice, trying to make the conversation a little less depressing, in classic Katelyn Salazaar fashion. “Liam, Zayn, Niall, and, erm - - “

“Louis,” Harry finished for her, covering his mouth subconsciously as Katie chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“Louis,” she repeated, sounding amused. “I’m glad you have them. Even Louis, who seems to have replaced me as your favourite person in the entire universe which, quite frankly, offends me _deeply._ I feel like I’ve lost a limb, damnit Harold. _”_

“Shut up,” Harry whined a little, giggling like a schoolboy into his palm that was still covering his mouth. He could sense Katie grinning on the other side of the phone, because of course Louis and Katie had come together and bonded like they were supposed to be friends the moment Harry had given Louis Katelyn’s number. Katie had Louis doubling over in laughter within thirty seconds and Louis had charmed her pants off in return, earning him a smack over the head and some sort of scolding that went like _don’t you dare try that, Tomlinson, I refuse to allow you to flirt with me when I’d rather that we smoke together instead._ “He’s my best-friend. I love him.”

“I can tell,” Katie replied almost instantly, and Harry knew she was still grinning as she continued. “Erm, do you need help with any coping mechanisms, or was this just a bad spot? Do you want me to just, I don’t know, stay on call with you for a little longer and talk stuff through?”

His head had stopped pounding as fiercely as it had been before, dying down to something that Panadol or Paracetamol could help with, undoubtedly. “I think I’m okay,” he told her, feeling confident in his words for once, an intense weight having been lifted off his shoulders. “Love you, Katie.”

“Love you too, dumbass,” she flicked right back at him, just as the song in the background changed to _Rude Boy_ by Rihanna and Harry descended into a little fit of giggles again.

“You’re so stupid,” Katie told him matter-of-factly.

“I know,” he responded with a shrug she could probably envision without having to actually see him do it, knowing him that well.

“Call me first next time, okay?” She chided, concern seeping into her voice again. “I don’t like hearing you so worked up because of your anxiety. I’m sure no one else really liked it, even if it wasn’t your fault, which it certainly wasn’t, and never will be. At least you got pampered this week instead of having to do anything yourself.”

Harry grinned, rubbing his hand over his faintly aching head. “I did. I, erm, I’ll pay them back, somehow. I have our performance in like, five minutes though, so I can’t do it now.”

Katie laughed again, the sound welcome and relaxed. “I know, Harold. You’d feel so insanely guilty it would drive you crazy if you didn’t. Now, I’m gonna go get drunk and find a cute girl, so good luck. You’ll smash the competition out of the water, I know it.”

It was hectic in the backstage area as Harry slid back in, Charlie and Kaya hastily reapplying any makeup that had been sweated off and fixing any clothing that didn’t fit properly while the camera and production crews he’d bitched about to Katie slunk around like cats preying on mice, eyes beady and cameras ready to capture anything interesting or scandalous. Harry spied Charlie forcing Zayn to change into the next size down of trousers, the waistband of his current pair fair too loose to wear out on stage without a belt, which the stylists hadn’t been given the O.K. to supply for the show that night. The other three members of _One Direction_ were having a final run-through with Savan, Liam covering Harry’s part while Louis covered Zayn’s, and Harry sneaked up beside Niall wordlessly, brushing against the blonde’s arm just enough to make him twist with a startled squawk.

“There you are, Harry!” Savan exclaimed, but Harry wasn’t really concentrating on him as his bandmates piled on to him in a tangle of limbs and clothes.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the boys fiercely, clutching them close.

Louis gave him a bright grin and Zayn piled on from behind, having obviously gotten a right-fitting pair of trousers, the sudden extra weight on his back making Harry shriek in surprise, and he felt - -

He felt good.

\--

Three minutes later, and they were thrown out on to the stage as the lights went down so they could position themselves at their mic stands. The crowd was screaming and clapping and brandishing signs with various messages on them, funny things like _girls who eat carrots… bit explicit_ and then things like _Louis, show us your arse_ all mixed together into one blur of _something_ in Harry’s line on vision, but he couldn’t really care less as he adjusted the height of his microphone.

The lights went up, and the backing track of _My Life Would Suck Without You_ blasted through the speakers.

Harry was back, and he was okay. Liam smashed out the two first verses, voice steady and strong and more consistent in the volume thanks to Savan’s insistent and relentless coaching before the others all joined in, Harry letting his eyelashes flutter and his head tilt back as he sang for the entire nation to hear, for the entire nation to judge all they liked because he was _there,_ he could _concentrate,_ and he knew he sounded fucking _amazing,_ on top of the damn world with four of his favourite people in the entire universe.

\--

Back at the _House,_ the contestants were all bundled up in various piles in the living room while binging _Fresh-Prince of Bel Air,_ much to Louis’ glee. He and the boys had claimed the exuberant sofa, Harry stretched across them like a cat, head resting on Louis’ chest and feet in Liam’s lap. They didn’t care much for it, fussing over him like a group of mother hens, Louis being the worst and trying to fix his curls and his shirt collar and scolding him when he shuffled the wrong way and fucked up whatever the older had done to the younger’s curls.

Everybody else was sprawled out across the floor in front of the television, the _Belle Amie_ girls at the foot of the sofa, Esther between Zayn’s knees with her back resting against the leather front of the piece of furniture. Rebecca was curled up in her lap with Geneva and Sophia on either side, a pile of emotionally attached girls not much different from _One Direction_ (but perhaps not as close, because Louis swore he and his boys were closer than any other friendship group in existence). Aidan and Matt were curled up on one of the beanbags with Katie, Bex and Cher all tangled together on another one, in front of where Louis was seated on the lounge as he played with Harry’s hair. Wagner and _Diva Fever_ had already retreated back to their rooms (much to the others’ relief, not that anybody would say it aloud, except for perhaps Louis or Zayn).

In a silent moment as Cher muted the television during the advertisement break, Katie said in an affectionate and gentle voice, “It’s good to see you back, Harry,” followed by murmurs of agreement from everyone in the room.

Harry hummed, smiling shyly and looking down, ignoring Louis’ affectionate tutting. “Yeah,” he responded honestly, scratching at his forearm – an old habit from when he was ten or eleven, a way to release anxious tension. “I, erm, I - - thank you, all of you for, uhm, helping me through all that.” He coughed a little, averting his eyes and Zayn smacked his shoulder fondly from where the darker skinned boy was sitting beside Louis and underneath Harry’s bum. “I wasn’t having the best week, but it would’ve been even worse without any of you. The hot chocolates and the pampering, seriously, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you guys hadn’t have helped out.”

“Wasn’t us, love,” Cher answered with an almost sad smile. “We didn’t know until we were told. You should thank Louis for telling us that all of this was happening, ‘cause that was all him.”

Louis didn’t say anything, instead running a gentle hand through Harry’s hair and scratching absent-mindedly at the younger’s scalp.

“I know,” he murmured, tilting his head up to look at Louis. “He, erm, I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Most people in the room cooed, Katie shooting Harry rather suggestive wink that had him flushing red and flipping her off playfully. Louis just buried his face in Harry’s hair and inhaled the soft scent of roses and dark chocolate.

Fate had been kind to Harry, because he really, truly had no idea what he’d do without Louis by his side, without Zayn and Liam and Niall there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTES!  
> \- there's going to be a small time-skip between this chapter and the next (next chapter is going to begin on the 20th of October, so there's a four day gap between chapters). That means we'll be skipping over the filming of the third video diary that happened on the 18th, but it will still be briefly mentioned. next chapter is also going to be a bit of a monster, most likely bleeding over into mid-November so this fic doesn't end up with a ridiculous amount of chapters, considering it's going right from 2010 to 2020.  
> \- Katie slowly becoming a more prominent character... we love to see it!!  
> \- less sexual tension in this one because it's more focused on how Louis and the boys care deeply for Harry instead of how much Louis and Harry need to bone already.  
> \- the ziam... oops. guess this fic has 100% side ziam. ;)
> 
> that's kind of it for this one. hope you guys liked it!! next week = new chapter!!


	5. 20th of October 2010 - 30th of October 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Harry's finger lightly caressed the exposed skin of Louis' hipbone where his loose shirt had ridden up, and Louis couldn't breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait on this chapter! I didn't give myself enough time to write a whole chapter that goes over the span of two and a half months (or so) and ended up splitting this chapter into two parts (the second part will be out next. I could've just labelled it as a new chapter, but I won't because it's basically an immediate continuation of this)... Apologies for that. Enjoy!

_(20 th of October)_

They’d made it through to the third week of the _X-Factor_ three days ago and filmed the third video diary, and Louis was walking down one of the overwhelming huge corridors in Fountain Studios on the way to Simon Cowell’s office with a vicious headache and dark bags under his eyes.

He’d received the invitation for a meeting with the man himself the day after the announcement that they’d be continuing on to the next round of the competition. Louis had (unwisely) gone out to a local pub with Aidan and Zayn, ending with a rather eventful cab call after they’d been swarmed by an insane number of fans on departure. Louis had been absolutely shit-faced drunk, being supported by Zayn’s arm around his waist and not really processing anything that had happened until he examined the tabloids the following morning and inhaled his freshly made tea.

Zayn had been really shaken up when he’d made his way down to breakfast, falling into Louis’ waiting arms at the bottom of the staircase after the eldest of the band had sculled down what felt like a bucket of water to soothe the burn in the back of his throat from the tea and his wicked hangover.

Louis couldn’t help but blame himself for thinking it was a good idea to go get drunk when he knew about the press attention he and the boys had been getting. He supposed it would make sense for Simon to want to clear up what happened, which was probably why a meeting had been put in place, but it didn’t nullify the worry that there was something else up, something _big,_ and he was at the centre of it.

Unfortunately, when Louis worried, he was often worrying over something that then proceeded to happen, and he was always less-than-cooperative when he had an aching hangover that he couldn’t shake no matter how much paracetamol he swallowed.

A rough _come in_ that didn’t sound an inch like Simon came through the exuberant door as Louis knocked politely. He twisted the doorknob and stepped into the room, not daring to look up until he’d closed the door behind himself and fixed his shirt collar (which had been tucked in at the back, somehow).

“Hello, Louis,” Simon’s voice echoed from his desk and Louis looked up as he took his customary seat against the wall out of the five positioned in front of where Simon was sat.

He froze and allowed his gaze to flicker nervously between the other five figures perched at various places throughout the room.

“Hi, Simon,” he responded in a tight voice, pulling his shoulders back and sitting up a fraction straighter as he looked back to his mentor and smiled awkwardly. “I assume you’ve been well?”

“Well, two of my acts are still in the competition, so I have no reason to be upset as of late,” Simon replied back smoothly, ever the conversationalist, practiced small-talk slipping from his lips like he was paid to do it (which, when Louis really thought about it, was probably an actuality).

After a brief stretch of tense silence, Louis feeling the eyes of the five other individuals in the room burn into him from all sides, Simon spoke up again. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I invited you here this morning.”

Louis nodded, biting his bottom lip anxiously as his hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles faded to white.

“Well, Louis, I’d like to introduce you to the founders of _Modest! Management,_ Richard Griffiths and Harry Magee, and the company’s three other big names, Anne-Marie Thomson, Lear Jones and Marlene Wilkinson.” He pointed to each figure as he revealed their identities, Griffiths, Magee and Jones stepping forward to shake his embarrassingly clammy hand while the other two watched on with their pointed yet somehow empty stares and furrowed eyebrows.

“Lovely to meet you all,” Louis said, voice a little squeaky. “Would you mind if I asked you what this is about?”

Simon chuckled darkly on his side of the desk, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in the chair, gesturing at Griffiths to step forward. The other man did so, shooting Louis an empty smile that had him fighting back an anxious shiver.

“Hello, Louis,” he started, voice commanding and serious. No wonder he was one of the founders. “As I’m sure you’ve heard through some source or another, _Modest!_ is the managerial business usually linked directly with _Syco._ ” He paused to smile at Louis again before finishing up his little spiel. “We work with artists that sign with record labels on everything from songwriting and recording to traditional management occurrences, such as touring organisation and publicity.”

“Right,” Louis nodded, flushing red in embarrassment at the crack in his voice.

“There’s no reason to sugar-coat it, so quite frankly, _Modest! Management_ offer our services to all _X-Factor_ finalists because it does well for our business,” Magee cut in, looking all business-y in his navy suit and soulless eyes. “We only pay real attention to the contestants who are shown interest when it comes to recording contracts, or even occasionally other management companies. Usually, myself and my four fellow executives in this room are only ever called in at the very start as a preparatory course into the industry type of thing, but sometimes we’re more linked in with… Special cases.”

“Special cases?” He questioned softly.

“Yes, special cases, Mr Tomlinson. Instances which could be detrimental to the success of our business, which is why we’re here today, actually. Simon called us in for this. I think you should be honoured to be experiencing such a thing as thing, considering it isn’t very often that contestants do.”

“Oh,” was all Louis could really say, gulping quietly and refusing to look at anybody else except whichever person ended up taking the lead with all the talking. “Would you, erm, mind telling me what exactly about this is considered special enough for you to intervene?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all. Today is an introductory meeting into your media training and how you will be perceived by the public. Simon kindly invited us five to assist because we all have years of prior experience dealing with such situations like yourself, and he deemed it appropriate to have a little extra… _Help_ in deciphering you.”

Louis swallowed and bit so hard into his lip he tasted blood. “Help?” He questioned slowly. “In deciphering me? There’s not much to decipher, I wouldn’t think.”

“ _That_ is where you’re wrong, Mr Tomlinson,” one of the women – he thought it was the Anne-Marie Thomson one, but he couldn’t quite remember in his jumbled state of mind – told him in a firm tone, stepping forward and looking him up and down, like a predator observed prey. “Or at least what you’re lying about. There’s a lot going on up in that head of yours that needs _filtering_ before you’re presentable for the public eye, especially if you continue such outings like the one you took with Mr Malik and Mr Grimshaw two nights ago and won’t have any of our staff to supervise you. From my sources, I collected that you were mobbed last night. We’ll be helping you along the path to learning how to avoid such occasions. Secrecy, obtaining privacy, but also not being forgotten by the public when your music isn’t being promoted.”

“So you’re training me to be some sort of media diva?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “Someone rich and famous but someone completely absent from reality?”

Anne-Marie Thomson clucked her tongue, eyes steely. “Not exactly. We’re going to train you out of your bad habits so that you’re received by the greater society in a positive manner instead of a negative one. We’ll be helping you balance out being a privacy-centred person and also being able to go partying, clubbing, whatever it is you would like to do without experiencing what you did two nights ago. Standard procedure for young celebrities such as yourself and your bandmates. Mr Styles has already been through a simplified version of this process, from what I’ve heard, and so will your bandmates. Although, they also seem less complicated than you. Less… _Flamboyant_.” She spat the word out like it was a curse, cracking her neck obnoxiously.

Louis clenched his jaw. So _that_ was what the meeting Harry had with Simon had circulated. Media image and training. Well, he’d known that, Harry had told them, but hearing it confirmed still came as a bit of a shock. Breaking – what was it? Right, his - -

“Bad habits?”

Griffiths sighed melodramatically from where he was standing before he cut in. “Let’s start there then, shall we? We haven’t had to do it to such a degree in the past, but a less edited version has been used in the past. We’re going to try and appropriate you and your four fellow bandmates for all audiences, including those not so accepting of a… different person. You’re extremely unique, and this specific kind of uniqueness isn’t exactly a common sight in the music industry, and it’s considered an unfamiliar enemy by a large majority of people, fans or managers or labels alike, therefore creating a whole layer of unnecessary difficult that you have to deal with.”

Louis spluttered, not needing to hear it explicitly to know what they meant.

Jesus, of course they knew. These - - these _bitches_ seemed to know everything (sure, he probably should have considered a vaguely-mature sounding curse word to describe them in a business-centred meeting, but he didn’t care much for that, honestly). “Who said anything about being, y’know, that?” He argued, trying to make his tone firm and unsure of his success with it. “And why is that automatically a bad thing?”

His heart was pounding and he wasn’t sure he could breathe properly as Simon briefly cut in before he undoubtedly faded into the background again. “It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Louis, no need to fret over that. And, before we continue, everything said in this room is confidential, so no word will be spread to any colleagues or individuals not-present here and now.” A lie, a blatant lie, but who was Louis to call him out on that?

“As aforementioned,” Griffiths continued, nodding politely to Simon. “It isn’t a bad thing, but that sort of romantic engagement, obviously including marriage, remains illegal in many places around the globe and even in places where it has been legalised, less progressive families and individuals may not be very fond of seeing any sort of thing relating to it on television. Which is why we’ll be training you to tone down your natural flamboyancy in public, alongside any stereotypical tendencies.”

_Oh._

“Why me?” He asked quietly.

“Because, Louis, you’re the only one who the tabloids are questioning this sort of thing over, and we need to stop that before it blows up into something uncontrollable. You’re incredibly touchy with Mr Styles, not just with him, of course, but _especially_ with him, and it’s becoming a concern for the success of the band. I’m sure Simon discussed with you five about the expectations surrounding boybands, correct?”

Louis nodded, fear and anger locked together in an intense dance for dominance in his mind. Griffiths smiled like he could see it.

“Well, I’m sure you remember him mentioning that seeming available to fans is a key marketing strategy.”

Another curt, restricted nod.

“Good. That is one of the reasons we were called in, because we’ve been receiving questions from companies interested in you boys regarding you and Mr Styles and how you interact with each other, in the video diaries or otherwise, as I briefly mentioned just before. They’ve been asking invasive things such as the level of intimacy your relationship with each other is at, which is, to say the least, undesirable. You’re lucky we’ve caught this soon enough, because you could’ve landed yourself in a much deeper hole.”

Louis didn’t think anything about this meeting was _lucky,_ but he couldn’t exactly say that aloud when his and the boys’ future had basically just been vaguely threatened by overlording people in business suits.

Anne-Marie stepped forward once more, gesturing vaguely to Marlene Wilkinson, who had eyes sharper than her sparkly black nails. “Wilkinson is under my branch of influence,” the woman explained in a voice absent of any kind of emotion. “She is the liaison between us and your band. She has each of your phone numbers, courtesy of the contracts signed back at the Judges’ Houses stage, and she’ll be checking with you in person and well as with messages. She’ll be the contact point, essentially.”

Louis didn’t say a word and Magee clapped his hands together with an oddly villainous grin. “It isn’t even going to be a major part of your media training, so I don’t understand why we’re hung up on it when we could be moving past it. This meeting was more along the lines of dictating your clothing style, your language and posture in interviews, blah blah blah. So, let’s actually dive into the organised contents, shall we?”

\--

They never actually said the word _gay,_ but it went unspoken.

Harry Magee had lied through his teeth when he’d said it wouldn’t be a major part of his media training, that was for sure. When he’d been shown his media appearance plan, Louis’ eyes had immediately noticed the list of scrawled notes in the top corner.

_Less expressive language_

_more toned_

_more professional_

_gradual change instead of immediate change in personality (more natural_

_appearing/could be played as maturity growing, learning more, etc.)_

_beard contract?_

_papped dates in future?? see lawyers._

Which, okay, made sense and was probably standard for any celebrity, but Louis couldn’t help but feel like he was falling at light-speed head-first into a trap. He wasn’t sure what much of the plan had meant, but if the email Simon had forwarded to him filled to the brim with meeting times was any indicator, he would find out sooner rather than later.

\--

A few hours later, Louis found himself unwisely next to an empty can of Redbull on the balcony, Zayn standing nearby at the railing. They’d shared the can, neither of them really sure if they could have the whole drink without throwing it up and Zayn had rolled two joints faster than Louis had thought possible.

Louis vaguely remembered somebody (that had probably been his mum or Fizzy) telling him that smoking weed and drinking _more_ alcohol while being hungover wasn’t the smartest decision, but he honestly hadn’t cared less as he’d thrust himself into Zayn’s side and wordlessly begged for a joint.

“So, what did ol’ Uncle Si say to you that convinced you that you needed to have a smoke wit’ me?” Zayn questioned after a few minutes of silence, taking a sharp drag of his joint as he leaned on his forearms on the metal railing of the _House_ balcony. Louis was sprawled out across the little sofa pressed into the corner, refusing to open his eyes as he took a drag for himself from his own joint.

He was afraid that if he opened his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to stop them from looking so scared.

Louis wasn’t going to fold like a house of cards, though. He wanted to turmoil internally instead of externally, thank you very much, and he didn’t need any of his friends pestering him to spill out every single one of his problems when he had far too many suppressed ones to count.

“There wasn’t li’e, a particular thing, I don’ think,” Louis admitted after a few moments, refusing to say anything else as he leaned back where he was sitting. Zayn didn’t follow up with anything, just staring out over the city below them and not looking down at the hundreds of paparazzi cameras a few stories below them. He must’ve looked incredibly ethereal from their angle, all sleep-ruffled with his singular black earring and smoke billowing from between his lips.

That didn’t mean Louis hadn’t taken one look at the cameras before and immediately felt just a bit sicker, mind you.

Seeing all of the cameras aimed at him and Zayn were a physical reminder of how many sets of eyes were on him and the boys, everything they did or said or implied. Absolutely _everything_. He’d gone out on to the balcony with Zayn to try and get away from all of that, and avoiding the cameras was certainly a major part.

He took another drag of the joint. “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he moaned out, ignoring the faint ache of protest his head gave and Zayn snorted from where he was standing, eyes briefly flickering back over to where Louis was before the younger of the two breathed out the smoke in the dreary air.

“Missed you too, dipshit,” he said, amused. “Even though we live together and are, like, best-friends, but whatever.”

Louis shook his head with a childish giggle, waving a dismissive hand in Zayn’s direction. His brain was already feeling fuzzy from the combination of the joint and the faint taste of Redbull still clinging to his tongue, his vision blurring for a fraction of a second before it focused once more. “I was talking to the joint, actually.”

“Oi!” Zayn snapped, faux offended as he made his way over to Louis on the sofa and flopped down on top of the older boy, making them both laugh as the younger cuddled closer, face pressed into the crook of Louis’ neck, his skin warm and inviting and smelling faintly of Harry’s new honey-scented shampoo he’d insisted on investing on during his last outing. “Bit rude of you to miss a joint over me, even if my points were all entirely valid before.”

“As you said, we live together,” Louis teased, batting at the stray strand of hair hanging over Zayn’s forehead that hadn’t stayed in place. “It’s kind of difficult to miss somebody you see every single day of your life, you see.”

Zayn hummed in acknowledge as he shifted closer to Louis, their bodies lined up and legs tangled as they attempted to get comfortable. Louis was thankful that his friend didn’t bring up the meeting again, instead choosing to sit back and relax.

Louis pressed his face into Zayn’s hair and inhaled, feeling a grin form on his lips even as his stomach churned in revulsion at the powerful scent overtaking his senses. “Zaynie, is that lavender that I smell? Did you let Li buy you that ridiculous lavender-scented stuff for your hair? S’makin’ me wanna throw up, Christ, s’too much for a hungover Louis Tomlinson to deal with.”

Zayn spluttered indignantly, smacking Louis across the chest half-heartedly as he simultaneously poked Louis in the ribs. “Maybe,” he admitted, a little sheepish as he sniffed. “S’dry shampoo, wanted to try it so Li offered, ‘n yeah. You obviously know the story. My lil sis is jus’ as bad as you though, won’t stop buggin’ me ‘bout it, cus somehow she found out. Also, stop smellin’ it if it’s makin’ you feel sick. I don’ want puke in my hair, thank you very much.”

With a little snicker, Louis breathed out a puff of smoke and let his head tilt back and his eyes flutter shut, not telling Zayn that it had been him that had told Waliyha about the whole shampoo debacle Zayn and Liam had gone through when they’d been out with Katie and Bex a few days prior.

Just a little before Louis had retreated to the balcony, eerily quiet if the skeptical looks he’d received were any indicator, Niall had bounced off with Aidan on some mission to cause destruction while Harry and Liam had slipped off to practice their harmonies, and he had to admit that it was nice to have some peace and quiet with Zayn who, admittedly, he’d found himself clinging to tighter and tighter (emotionally and physically) the longer they’d known each other.

Zayn hadn’t seemed to give much care to it as of yet, having subjected himself to kissing Louis on the forehead every morning and wrapping him up in soft hugs whenever he looked mildly sad and nuzzling his face into Louis’ ridiculously soft hair and sure, he did the same to the other boys, but it felt a little heavier with Louis, like he understand all the inner turmoil the eldest of the band was going through.

The quieter of the two seemed content to stay sprawled across Louis’ lap, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face, joint smouldering and forgotten on the glass side table he’d left it on before he’d collapsed on top of Louis. He was loose-limbed and on the way to high, walking the scarily thin line between clear-minded and dizzy from the weed intake mixed with the Redbull he’d had earlier (both boys were too close to being high to really regret it, but both were going through little internal episodes of self-loathing for drinking the whole damn can, even if they’d shared because really, it hadn’t made much difference).

Louis could’ve slapped himself for what he said next, reverting back to the original topic and the core reason he’d ended up almost-high-and-definitely-going-to-be-high on the _X-Factor House_ balcony. “I think the whole thing might’o just been too much f’me, y’know?”

Zayn hummed, brows furrowing in confusion without opening his eyes as he tried to process Louis’ words in his foggy brain. “Wha’s too much f’you? The performance? Cus’ you seemed fine when we filmed the video diary. All flirty n’ soft wit’ Hazza, more so than usual. Kind revolting, honestly.”

Which, sure, wasn’t _wrong._ Louis had been absolutely buzzing in the video diary, and he’d been crazy fond with the curly-headed lad. What was wrong with that? He was ecstatic that Harry was feeling himself again, and that warranted any sort of celebration, but his fellow bandmates weren’t stupidly overjoyed in the way that he was.

Instead Louis had just earned a hard kick in the back from Liam when he’d bitten his lip subconsciously to contain a ridiculously fond smile when Harry said something that wasn’t even mildly funny, a pointed shoulder nudge from Zayn or Niall when he’d leaned in closer to Harry and Harry had leaned in closer to him for what could possibly have been the trillionth time within the span of thirty seconds and a hard jab in the ribs from Zayn’s thumb when he’d leaned over and bitten down into Harry’s clothed shoulder.

It had just been some fun, really.

“No, dumbarse, I don’ have stage-fright,” Louis teased, batting lightly at Zayn who spluttered in protest but still refused to move from his place spread across the older boy’s chest like a starfish. “The meetin’, obviously,” he eventually explained in a marginally slurred voice, feeling the faint urge to laugh at how funny he sounded but alas, the albino-like rare appearance of his common-sense was telling him that it would be inappropriate, and he still had enough mind presence to listen. “Jus’ felt like I was gonna combust or die or somethin’. I don’ know.”

Louis felt Zayn frown against his tanned skin like he couldn’t quite comprehend his friend’s words. “Tha’ doesn’t sound like you, though,” he slurred back, stifling a rather dramatic yawn softly into the soft skin of Louis’ neck, eyelashes fluttering ticklishly. “You don’ get overwhelmed n’ shit like the rest o’ us do.”

Louis sighed, still refusing to open his eyes and look at his friend even as he felt Zayn’s eyes flicker up and down his forcefully relaxed body. “I know, s’just - - I don’ know, to be honest. I know I don’ really get overwhelmed ‘n stuff, but like. They said I needa tone down bein’ myself, and tha’ was like, a lot f’me, yeah? I’ve never been told to stop actin’ like me, yeah, n’ I didn’t know what to do.”

There was a weighted silence before it was broken roughly.

“Who told you to tone down bein’ yourself?” Zayn asked, although it sounded a little more like a demand than a simple, peaceful question. “’Cause that’s bullshit. We’d be a borin’ band if you weren’t you, y’know?”

They both snorted but neither spoke again, Louis instead tugging Zayn closer and Zayn wrapping his arms around Louis’ torso and under the slight arch of his back, refusing to let go.

\--

_(21 st of October)_

Through thick and thin throughout his complicated life, Louis had always been a family centred person. From the very first day he’d spoken, all the way to the present day in the _X-Factor House,_ he’d always been a mama’s boy, his sisters’ best-friend, always. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a necessity, really – he was still _their_ Louis, still their ‘man in the house’, still the acts-tough-but-is-actually-an-emotional-train-wreck kid that everybody coddled at the nearest inconvenience (even if he told them to go away which, really, was to be expected. Siblings didn’t just leave you alone, after all, and neither did a completely overprotective mother).

Sure, he was independent and badass, if he did say so himself. He was easily the most mature out of his siblings (even if he lacked common sense to last a millennium and still resorted to putting milk in Lottie’s school shoes when he was annoyed at her) and was brave beyond belief (even if he absolutely despised spiders and cramped spaces and may-or-may-not-have screamed when Phoebe had thrown a dead house spider at him a few years ago), but that didn’t mean his heart hadn’t been heavy as he’d been forced into signing the most recent batch of NDAs that disallowed him spreading any non-public information about the business side of things going on during the show – which, by coincidence, were driving him scarily fast towards his undeniable breaking point.

It _also_ didn’t help that a brief paragraph in the day’s _Daily Mail_ , accompanied by the almost religious spiels in minor papers that were steadily gaining more attention, were openly questioning his sexuality based on his ministrations with a certain curly-headed lad and he couldn’t rant about it to his favourite woman in the entire universe (his absolutely incredible and mind-boggling mother who never saw him as anything but an angel who made bad decisions sixty-percent of the time), mind you.

“So, my dearest and favourite son,” Jay started fondly and Louis couldn’t help but smile around the cigarette between his lips that he’d begged from one of the stalker-like cameramen flittering around the _House_ before he’d kicked the back door of the main studio open and strode out into the quiet morning. “How have you been? You haven’t called for ages. I’ve been worried. Harry texts me a bit and so does Liam, but it’s weird not hearing from you when you have a rather nasty habit of never closing your mouth.”

Louis giggled into the phone, taking a soft drag of the cigarette before pulling it from between his lips and puffing out a rather aesthetic breath of awful-smelling smoke. “’ve been fine, mum, I promise. I’d tell you if it was otherwise, mkay? I always do.” His heart clenched a little because he’d pretty much lied through his teeth because he _had to,_ wasn’t _allowed_ to say anything, but he didn’t let himself focus on it.

“And calling me your favourite son doesn’t lend you any leverage, by the way, considering I’m your only son so I don’t have much competition.” Jay tutted affectionately on the other end of the line as Louis rambled on, unable to suppress his ridiculously happy grin because _wow,_ it had been ages since he’d heard his mother’s voice and he hadn’t realised he’d needed it until that moment in the backyard of the _House._ “And hey, how did Haz and Li even _get_ your number in the first place? I never gave it to them - -“ He broke off, frowning, before the realisation hit him and he groaned at his own stupidity. “Wait, never-mind, they know my phone password and Haz has Stan’s number, sorry.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Jay told him, obviously smiling.

Louis laughed, taking another puff of the cigarette before responding with a little, “Do you really think I would’ve changed in such a short amount of time?” to which Jay gave a soft, “It’s been months, Louis.”

All his worries about the NDAs forcing him into silence and the meetings telling him to stop being so different and the articles screaming that he wasn’t normal and didn’t like what he should’ve liked seemed to disintegrate for a while, his mother’s reassuring and kind voice a worthy distraction from all of the hustle and endless movement of the world he’d been thrust into.

Jay hummed before she began speaking again. “Where are you, boo bear? Whenever Harry calls me I usually hear people shouting and laughing in the background. It’s oddly quiet.”

Louis shrieked in faux-protest, gasping out a mock offended, “Harry calls you? Blasphemy! Betrayal! My own _mother_ had _abandoned_ me!”

“Don’t even lie, I know Harry’s your favourite,” Jay shot back in a teasing tone, a hint of firmness behind it that told Louis to not fuck around too much because she was still his mother, as always. Louis spluttered, unable to really think of a witty comeback to such an accusation and instead blurting out, “Okay, sure he’s my favourite, but still? You could’ve called me but instead you _waited._ How ghastly of you.”

“Oh, so he _is_ your favourite? I knew those looks you shoot at each other in the video diaries you five boys make every week weren’t for show.”

Louis’ heart skipped at least four beats in his chest as he felt his cheeks flame, accidentally inhaling a little too much of the cigarette smoke and coughing roughly. Jay tutted in the back of her throat, suddenly sounding an awful lot more mother-y as she questioned, “Lou, are you smoking? I thought I told you not to,” And Louis whined out a little, “Mother dearest, light of my world, allow me to be an eighteen-year-old.”

“Louis William Tomlinson, don’t get smart with me,” she warned, but it sounded half-hearted, like it always had sounded when Jay attempted to scold any of her children (except for the twins, but that was because they needed the extra authority that the other three siblings didn’t). “You grew up too fast for your mother to handle, fell in love with a boy and are already trending almost every day on social media. Let me protect you for a little longer, ignore the fact that those photos of Zayn and Aidan holding your drunken bum up in the streets went viral on Twitter yesterday when I also specifically told you not to drink too much again.”

“Mum! I did _not_ fall in love with anybody!” Louis squeaked indignantly, cheeks flushing impossibly more crimson than they already had been.

It didn’t matter that he knew most of his and Harry’s interactions weren’t usually made in platonic manners. He _knew_ the meetings with Simon and other _Modest!_ staff members (the _founders,_ too, for Christ’s sake) weren’t for no reason, that they were happening because there was something there that general society thought wasn’t supposed to be in existence. He _knew_ the dreams he had at night about running his fingers through soft curls and caressing hollow and pale cheeks with the pad of his thumb weren’t normal, weren’t _platonic_ like they were supposed to be. He _knew_ all of that.

Louis drew in a deep breath, letting the tobacco flood his lungs, exhaling a little smoother than he’d done before, his head swimming in fuzziness. His fingers twitched subconsciously where they softly gripped the cigarette because it wasn’t the addiction he was satisfying, wasn’t the thing thundering in his heart that he needed like oxygen and was being deprived of.

He knew that.

It didn’t mean he wanted his mother (or anyone, for that matter) to know it, too.

“And about the drinking, seriously, that was one party when I was _fifteen_ \- - “

“And it did you good to stay off the alcohol,” she pointed out and Louis couldn’t even protest as his shoulders slumped and he sighed forcefully.

“I’ve missed this,” he said in a moment of silence, to which his mother responded with a quiet, “Same.” He’d missed the banter and the teasing and the inside knowledge that only family members possessed. He’d missed the reassurance of talking with people who knew him inside and out, knew his deepest secrets and his darkest fears and didn’t judge him for an ounce of them. It didn’t matter that he lived with four of those people because they hadn’t known him since he was born, hadn’t known him through the darkest moments of his life, where his mother and sisters had been.

It was good to have a glimpse of it again.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t spill every weight of his chest that he wanted to (but knowing him he’d probably cry it all out to Lottie or Fizzy and one of them with their abnormally big mouths would spread it to Jay) because of the dumb non-disclosure documents he’d been forced into signing. It didn’t matter that his emotions were all out of whack because some old men and overlording women in suits were telling him that he was _unnatural,_ that he needed to be trained to be something he wasn’t because what he was wasn’t _desirable._

None of that mattered because for the little while that he got to hear his mother’s voice, Louis felt like he was on top of the world.

\--

_(22 nd of October)_

It was the twenty-second day of October, soft morning light filtering through the closed blinds and the vague scent of dew courtesy of the open back door downstairs, and Louis, Aidan and Matt were planning on how to sneak out of the _House_ and go get absolutely _smashed_ at a new pub (hopefully where their PAs and various paparazzi groups wouldn’t think to look).

Louis had convinced Savan to wrap up vocal practice early (there may have been some bribery with chocolate involved, but nobody save for Louis and their too-chill vocal coach had to know that), considering the boys were pretty much solidly going through to the following week of the show, if their as-close-to-perfect-as-possible singing was any indicator. As it was, Aidan’s solo vocal rehearsals were almost always first up on the schedule and Matt’s followed an hour or so afterwards, so all they’d had to do was stake out in the bathrooms where nobody would find them and drag them away and wait for Louis to come get them so they could start planning. The boys had lingered around the studio with some of the other contestants, Louis spying Harry trying to fix Cher’s shirt collar as she kept on shifting and talking to Zayn and Katie, the both of them having a cigarette hanging from between their lips.

“Okay, so, if we use the back exit - - Aidan, where the _fuck_ did you get that from?”

“You’ll never know,” Aidan said with a faux-flirtatious wink, flicking the stray locks of fake-purple hair from the awful wig he’d snatched from someplace or another over his shoulder. Louis cackled like some sort of cliché Disney villain, yanking at the purple material and bringing it to his chest like a child as Aidan squawked in protest, Matt rolling his eyes fondly at the two of them.

They’d thrown themselves across at least ninety-percent of the beanbags from the main studio, Louis slung across Aidan’s thighs with a map on the studio floor in front of him and Aidan’s head tilted back against the palms of his own calloused hands as he grinned like an idiot at Louis messing with the wig while frowning at the over-complicated map. Matt was laying across the actual floor, head on Louis’ lower calves at some awkward angle that couldn’t possibly have been comfortable.

“ _Anyway,_ so, if we use this back exit,” he paused for a moment to gesture to the back exit leading out from the bottom floor bathrooms back at the _House,_ “We could catch a cab without any of the PAs noticing, as long as the timetables Mister Grimshaw stole from that bitch, what’s her name, Trinity! As long as the timetables you stole from Trinity are up to date and they haven’t changed shift hours. Sound about right? And me mum won’t rip me head off for drinkin’ again cus she won’t know.”

Aidan snorted, nodding and raising an eyebrow as he snatched the map and held it up close to his face to examine it properly. “Sounds good, lil’ dude. Let’s just hope I stole the right timetables, you know.”

“I’ll hit you if they’re wrong, I’m not even gonna lie. I’ll get Matt on board with that, too.”

“I’m down to do that,” Matt said, clearly amused, a rarity for him to make much of a sound during conversation.

“I know you will, so I’m just gonna run away if they end up being wrong and we get caught.”

Louis laughed again and reached up to smack Aidan in the face, Aidan poking his tongue out at the same time and licking a line across the back of the younger boy’s palm. Louis squealed in protest and twisted so he could knee Aidan in the groin, Aidan making a pained sound and throwing Louis off him, the younger uncontrollably laughing as he landed face first on the ground. Matt swore in protest as Louis’ shoe kicked him in the head and he reached around to try and hit Louis, failing miserably.

“Well, are we ready?” Aidan asked, scrambling to his feet and offering a hand to Louis and Matt each, so they could, with a fraction more grace, stand up, too.

“’Course. Let’s go,” Matt hummed, grinning. “Wouldn’t miss gettin’ absolutely smashed for the world.”

Louis snorted, shrugging as he gripped Aidan on the forearm and dragged him towards the nearest hallway, before there was a hand on his shoulder holding him back.

Louis let go of Aidan and spun around to see Harry frowning at him, bottom lip between his teeth, the other three boys pretending like they weren’t listening from their respective places around the main studio. Zayn left his place hurriedly, moving up behind Harry without a word, looking like he was ready for World War Three.

“Where are you guys off to?” Harry asked lightly, trying to seem relaxed. Matt was watching the youngest boy with concerned eyes, something almost motherly, and Louis couldn’t have hidden the smile on his face no matter what he did.

“For a drink, babes,” Louis told him, cringing internally at the obvious fondness in his tone of voice aimed solely at the curly-headed boy anxiously fidgeting in front of him. “Need a bit of a break from the _House,_ y’know? Head’s absolutely flooded wit’ shit.”

“Could I come?”

Louis was about to agree, and it looked like Matt was too, eyes glimmering as he glanced pointedly at Louis and the Doncaster lad ignored him steadily, reaching out to card a soft hand through Harry’s messed up curls in a useless attempt to control them (even if the gesture had been made just to touch Harry, but it was whatever). Was Louis really expected to complain and say no to Harry following him around like some kind of shadow crafted from marble and roses and everything perfect in the world?

Apparently so, if the slightly tensed stance of Aidan behind Louis was any indicator.

“Sorry H, lovely, but it’s only over eighteen tonight,” Aidan said with a firm voice, somehow sounding marginally apologetic despite nothing else about him being apologetic in the slightest. Louis saw Matt in his peripherals jab Aidan in the ribs with a raised eyebrow, knowing full damn well that it wasn’t only over eighteens in the pub they’d planned for but not daring to open his mouth, just in case. Louis was the same, rendered silent as he stroked through Harry’s hair again, licking his lip and letting his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones.

Zayn coughed pointedly from where he was standing. Louis payed him no mind, especially not as Harry bit his lip and leaned more into the touch. He stepped a little closer, eyes cast downwards as he murmured, “Can’t pick another place?”

Louis was about to cut in again and say _yes, yes of course, just don’t move away from me,_ before Aidan – damn him, seriously – said, “Would if we could, babes. We’re meetin’ other people there, too late to change.”

Harry hummed out a little, “How unfortunate,” before he stepped even closer, eyelashes fluttering as he looed up at Louis through them, somehow appearing smaller than he really was. “Maybe next time.”

And then Harry’s finger lightly caressed the exposed skin of Louis’ hipbone where his shirt had ridden up, and Louis couldn’t _breathe._

He shivered as Harry gently stroked over the sliver of skin again, thumb catching on the waistband of Louis’ jeans, the touch tantalising and addictive and Louis thought he was going to combust.

The moment wasn’t exactly _broken,_ so to speak, but it was definitely interrupted when a voice rose up through the haze of Louis’ mind.

“Yeah, maybe next time, little one,” Matt said, the guiltiness and awkwardness in his tone evident as Louis felt the elder’s eyes processing the scene in front of him. He slowly moved up and ruffled Louis’ hair affectionately, pulling him away from Harry as Zayn, face carefully absent of any emotion, came up to drag Harry in the opposite direction, lip between his teeth as he bit at it anxiously.

Louis wasn’t sure his vocal-chords were ever going to work again, so instead he shot Harry a _very_ shaky thumbs up and turned to follow Aidan and Matt down the winding hallway.

Okay, so. He knew that kind of behaviour, knew it like the back of his hand (not to brag or anything, though), and it wasn’t the type of thing seen beyond clubs and parties where the jealousy could’ve been tasted in the air. It didn’t make _sense,_ though, because Harry was his _best friend,_ really, and he knew what Harry looked like when sex was mentioned in a conversation: either flushed cheeks and embarrassed whines or smirks and overly-flirtatious actions. Definitely not those soft, possessive touches and bitten lips and lowered eyes peering up through fluttering eyelashes.

At least he was about to get shit-faced drunk within the next hour and a half so he could stop having an internal breakdown over something that probably didn’t even matter.

\--

Three hours later, back at the _House,_ Harry was pressed between Niall and Zayn on Liam’s bunk while the four of them watched _The Notebook._

Harry had been silent as Zayn had wordlessly taken him back to the _House_ after the confrontation with Louis, Aidan and Matt, and he hadn’t said a word besides a small _thanks_ to Esther for making him hot chocolate again (the girl was basically his mother at that point, making him hot chocolates and bundling him up in the warmest blankets whenever he liked mildly upset and in need of comfort). Niall and Liam had followed their bandmates, too, and Liam had loudly announced that they were going to have a movie night the moment he’d glanced over at Harry and seen his worn out and sad expression.

In truth, it wasn’t just the whole Louis situation that had driven Harry to this point of depthless exhaustion and depressive state. Sure, that whole thing down in the studio (fucking _Aidan,_ jesus, Harry loved the guy, he really did, but _fuck him)_ had definitely fuelled his not-so-great emotional state, and _Christ,_ he’d just been so angry that he’d basically molested Louis just to be spiteful (but also because he’d wanted to touch that little sliver of skin so badly it had been killing him little by little internally), but - -

But the call from his mum had caused majority of the damage. She’d called just after rehearsal had finished, and Harry could never have ignored the call because he loved his mother dearly and didn’t have the willpower to hang up on anyone, really, not like Louis and Zayn could do if they wanted ( _“Heartless assholes,” Niall would yell at them, and the two miscreants would just cackle and share one of those plotting glances that their bandmates and fellow contestants had learned to be afraid of)._

He wished he could’ve said he was busy, or at least postponed the call until later (or never, but, yknow, postponing generally meant it had to happen eventually), but it was probably better he’d heard it from her instead of Gemma or, Christ, maybe even Jonny or Katelyn (even though he loved them to bits).

His dad had officially signed the divorce paperwork.

It wasn’t like Harry had been oblivious to the whole debacle with his parents – nothing had been right for a while, even though it had all gone down when he was younger and Des had left them what seemed like eons ago. Anne had gotten with Robin, just dating, and all had been good, Harry not really paying much attention to his biological father and all that the drama had entailed. All he’d really given thought to was the fact that Robin was where his dad was supposed to be, and that was how his mother wanted it. Harry liked Robin well enough, admired him really, thought of him as his actual father, and that was good enough.

Anne and Des hadn’t been divorced, though. No, Des had just moved out, packed up and left, making Anne deal with all of the financial issues and the confusion the children had possessed at him just upping and leaving. He’d still halved the school fees for each kid with Anne (he wasn’t a monster, not by a long shot) and paid off his share of the house mortgage, but it hadn’t made much difference in the end. They’d still been tight with money ever since, only having one set of income (and it didn’t help that Anne was adamant that neither of her children were old or mature enough to get real jobs, mind you), and - -

And now it was official that Anne was on her own with her two kids.

Harry knew there wouldn’t be much of a fight for legal custody of him and Gemma. He knew their father loved them dearly, would always love them (Harry hoped to rekindle some sense of a father/son relationship later in the future with Des, but he had no clue how to go about it), but what Harry also knew was that it would tear Anne apart to see her kids go, and Des wouldn’t do that to her, even if everything between them had been so incredibly difficult from the start right through to the end.

The last thing that Harry knew was that he’d disliked being at home ever since Des had left. It had been a subconscious thing for a long time where he’d just be at Katelyn or Jonny or Tom’s house with no explanation other than him being ‘bored’, or staying extra hours to catch up on non-existent homework or napping in the local Holmes Chapel meadow at nine pm because he ‘didn’t like the stuffiness of his room’. He’d become more aware of that overtime, of course he had, but it didn’t change a thing.

But the other boys didn’t have to know that, so Harry didn’t indulge them.

He sighed a little overdramatically as he twisted and cuddled into Niall’s side, the blonde wordlessly wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Harry pulled out his phone and tapped out another set of quick texts to Louis.

**Loulou <3**

_9:42 PM_

_Louuu bear, come home!! Havin a movie_

_night. I miss my favourite pillow :(_

_Pls? It’s weird without you here. Too quiet._

_At least respond t me so I know you’re okay._

_Lou!!_

Louis had become his anchor ever since the day they’d met and Harry had almost bawled his eyes out in embarrassment because he’d accidentally gotten piss on Louis’ pants, and since Harry had climbed his way out of his abyss of anxiety, all thanks to the currently absent Doncaster lad, he’d become entirely co-dependent on him. He still slept in Louis’ bunk most nights, only retreating to his when it got too hot for them to share because of the awful aircon in the bunk-room and was almost always expecting Louis to come up behind him and jump on him or shout or _something_ just to get his attention.

_(“Lou, I swear I’m too clingy. Tell me if I’m too clingy, please.”_

_“Hazza, my sweetest curly lad, I promise you’re not too clingy. Are we really best-friends if we’re not attached at the hip twenty-four-seven?”_

_“Hmph.”_

_“Didn’t think so. Now let me braid your hair so you look pretty and Niall gets jealous because he wants to look as pretty and curly as you.”)_

And not having Louis there, bundled up in his lap or pressed into his side or with his tanned chest against Harry’s back, was possibly one of the weirdest and scariest things Harry had been forced to deal with since he’d come back to himself.

“Hazza,” Niall started softly, poking Harry’s cheek with a calloused finger, the nail bitten down. “Put the phone down ‘n enjoy the movie wit the rest of us. He’s probably shit-faced drunk by now, not dead. He already has Matt mothering him and Aidan, I don’ think he needs ‘nother person.”

Harry sighed, clicking off the phone and setting it down on top of the covers between him and Niall. “That’s what bothers me,” he admitted in a soft mumble, shifting closer to the blonde and accidentally hitting Zayn’s hip with his bum and Zayn snorted, reaching underneath the blankets to pinch his arse-cheek in retaliation. Harry squeaked and twisted so he could glare at the boy from Bradford and Zayn cackled (something awfully Louis-like, if Harry really thought about it, Zayn and Louis having labelled themselves as the trickster-duo of the _House)_ , biting at his lip before turning his attention back to the movie.

Harry would’ve missed it if he was a less-attentive person, but he saw the slightly unnerved expression on Zayn’s face before it was carefully schooled away.

Harry supposed it was justified – _The Notebook_ was his favourite movie and he was still moping like an idiot, eyes red-rimmed and pliant in the way he got when he was either really anxious or on the verge of tears, even after Esther’s hot chocolate and his pampering from the boys. Maybe Zayn thought he was falling back into another anxiety trap, but he somehow doubted it. Zayn knew him too well at that point to think he was spiralling again, considering there weren’t enough of the classic signs showing that would basically scream _help._

He was just tired and sad. Give him a break.

He felt a soft hand begin carding through his hair the way that Louis usually did it and Harry leaned into the touch, giving a content little sigh and letting his eyelids flutter closed, hearing the rain from the movie on Liam’s computer screen like it was really just outside the _House’s_ various windows.

Taking yet another moment to think back on his actions down in the studio, Harry felt his cheeks flame red in embarrassment and squirmed in Niall’s grip, hearing somebody – probably Liam – coo affectionately at him like he was a child and reach over to stroke a soft yet firm hand down his arm.

He’d just been so _angry_ that he hadn’t been thinking, not at all. He hadn’t been thinking as he’d reached out and stroked over Louis’ soft and tanned skin so _possessively_ that it had made Louis _shiver_ and his pupils dilate. Harry should’ve felt like an absolute creep in the moment, should’ve felt like a creep thinking about it, but he shamefully didn’t. It had felt - - felt so _nice,_ especially when he’d looking up through his seductively fluttering eyelashes at Aidan and seen the tension in the elder’s shoulders, clearly seeing he’d crossed a line (even though none of them really knew what that line actually _was)._

It shouldn’t have felt nice to make Louis that flustered, make his eyes darken like Harry belonged to him, or something equally as cliché or scary. But it did.

And Harry couldn’t deny that he was hurting not having Louis by his side, even if things would’ve been awkward considering what had occurred between them in that hallway.

_(23 rd of October)_

Okay, so, perhaps giving and receiving drunken blowjobs the night before their third performance hadn’t exactly been Louis’ smartest idea in the world.

His throat was hurting like _hell_ , head pounding unpleasantly thanks to the extreme hangover and mouth all dry (he _had_ gotten completely smashed, so Louis supposed that was all his fault), voice scratchy when he spoke and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he lost his voice (fuck, Savan was actually going to _kill him_ during vocal rehearsals in - - oh _shit,_ in three hours, Louis was _so_ incredibly fucked); and his knees were all bruised from the rough tiles in the bathroom he’d dropped down on to, aching unpleasantly whenever they came into contact with something with a little too much force (Niall had purposefully kicked him in the knee just before so he could hear Louis cry out in pain and swear enough to last the entire human race for three centuries, alongside multiple death-threats. Hey, Louis had never gone down on someone on hard tiles and the guy had actually had pretty impressive stamina, could you blame him?).

And Harry was looking at him like he knew what had happened, all disapproving and sad, lip constantly caught between his teeth and looking away whenever Louis so much as gestured or glanced in his direction.

Why should Louis care that Harry cared? It had just been some guy who looked like he was barely of age looking for a quick fuck, and Louis had been happy enough to indulge him. It didn’t _mean_ anything, didn’t have any resting implications on his life or the band’s career. The guy probably hadn’t even recognised who he was in his drunken haze (not that Louis could talk), so there was the most minimalistic chance of it ending up in some minor paper that listed it as an uncredible source. Nothing was ruined from a quick dick down Louis’ throat, seriously.

There were a variety of reasons in Louis’ head that he could justify him caring about Harry’s thoughts on who the eldest of the band had hooked up with and the consequences of it. For one, Louis’ voice was absolutely wrecked (the guy hadn’t been gentle, not in the slightest, and it wasn’t like Louis was complaining about that, even if giving head wasn’t his favourite thing in the world), and Harry could’ve just been disapproving because Louis was hindering their chances at having a perfect performance as it had been looking to be for the entire week thus far. Louis could definitely understand Harry’s annoyance at that, especially after having just had such a stressful week leading up to their second performance. Louis couldn’t help but feel guilty if that truly was the reason for Harry’s jitteriness.

Or - - or maybe Louis cared that Harry cared because even in his drunken state in the club bathroom, Louis had wondered what it would’ve been like if the guy had been Harry instead.

He couldn’t let himself think about that, though. It was better for him to compartmentalise it (like he always did with his problems) than spew it all out and screw up their chances even more.

As Louis downed far too many Paracetamol tablets at the kitchen island while Cher and Katie talked happily about how their families were doing back home, Aidan stumbled over with the dopiest grin on his face known to mankind.

(It wasn’t like Louis was the only one who had something happen last night, mind you. Louis had definitely seen Aidan sneaking off with a pretty brunette only some minutes before Louis had followed his own hook-up into the club bathroom).

“So, mister,” Aidan started, voice a little slurred as he sat down on the stool beside Louis, who winced at the noise the metal furniture made against the wooden floorboards, pressing the palm of his hand into his left temple to try and stifle the pain. “How was last night?”

“Fucking wicked,” Louis responded raspily, coughing in a useless attempt to try and clear his throat when he knew the fucked-out sound of it wasn’t going to drain away anytime soon. “You saw how smashed I got. Basically had to get Matt to carry me out to the cab.”

Aidan snorted, stealing a swig of Louis’ water effortlessly, almost as though he wasn’t as hungover as Louis (which he most definitely was, and Louis was desperate to know his secret on hiding it so well). “Yes, I did witness that. Pretty sure there’s photos of it in the _Daily Mail_ or _The Sun_ this morning. I won’t bother showing you.”

Louis groaned despite the brief shock of pain in the back of his throat and hid his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks flush red. “I looked super fucked-out, didn’t I?”

Cher chose that moment to chime in with an amused, “Yeah, you really did. Must’ve had a good lay last night, yeah? Certainly looked like it,” before she descended back into conversation with Katie like she’d never broken away from it. Louis flipped her off without looking and heard the tell-tale giggle from Cher that signified she’d seen the flippant gesture.

“It was just a blowjob,” Louis protested, not really sure what he was protesting but it made all three of his companions burst out into laughter. “Seriously, I’m sure a dick down my throat hardly got portrayed in whatever papers those photos ended up in.”

“Wait, you gave _and_ received? Christ,” Matt interrupted from where he was sitting on the little cushioned seat near to the kitchen area, where Harry and Louis usually cuddled up and told each other dumb stories when they couldn’t sleep at night because Louis’ bunk was too hot for them to share and Harry didn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yes, Matty, I did. And I’ll hit you if you don’t shut up. My throat hurts too much to work right now.”

“This is literally the perfect opportunity for us to bully you and you can’t retaliate,” Aidan pointed out, shoving his shoulder affectionately. “We can tear you apart and you can’t say a word because you have to preserve your voice for today’s show.”

“So do you!” Louis cut in, wincing and rubbing at his throat as his voice rose too high in volume. “I’m genuinely curious as to how you and Matt hardly look hungover _or_ fucked-out when I know for a fact that you both got laid last night and I looked completely trashed.”

“Magic, little one,” Matt said with a smirk and a wink to accompany it. “It’s only effective if you’re older than twenty and taller than five-nine.”

“Being older than twenty isn’t something you should flaunt about, my friend,” Louis taunted, cracking his knuckles and letting his eyelashes flutter tiredly. “And I’m five-nine exactly, thank you very much.”

“Bitch _please,_ you hardly look five-seven, let alone five-nine,” Zayn cut in sassily as he made his way down the creaking spiral staircase leading back up to the bunk rooms, smirk on his face. He joined them at the kitchen island, slinging himself across the pristine marble surface entirely too elegantly to be legal. His hair was all sleep-messy and he had one of Harry’s dumb _E.T_ shirts on alongside one of Liam’s loose-fitting pairs of sweatpants that looked like they were about to fall off Zayn’s unnaturally slim hips. “Anyway, was this guy you hooked-up with actually any good at getting your dick wet or nah?”

“I mean, I lasted longer than him, so.” Not exactly a lie, but he’d only lasted longer by a second or two, something he’d never tell the other boys.

Zayn snorted, swatting at Louis. “Wicked. Either you’re really good at sucking dick or he’s really shit.”

“Hey!” Christ, he really did need to shut up before his throat started bleeding.

The room went eerily silent as Harry came into view from the staircase, Niall and Liam hot on his heels, all three of them looking ruffled and Harry looking marginally more sleep-deprived than the rest of them.

Louis didn’t need to ask if Harry had slept in his own bed or not. He knew the answer.

Neither of them even dared glance at each other, Louis feeling his shoulders tense a little without his permission as he took a forceful sip of his water again (his brain was hurting far too much to even fathom tea or coffee, because Louis was sadly one of those people who couldn’t drink caffeine or sugar while severely hungover because it made him throw up more viciously than anything else ever did).

Harry walked right past Louis and Aidan at the island, moving straight for the cupboard with the cereal boxes in it and choosing his favourite while Niall fetched the milk from the fridge. The blonde was shooting a wide-eyed look at Louis and gesturing not-so-inconspicuously at Harry’s own tensed figure pouring the cereal into a bowl. Louis just shrugged and turned back to Aidan, getting out a slightly choked, “Well, how was your lady last night? You seemed pretty stoked afterwards.”

“You were _smashed_ drunk, Lewis, I hardly think you remember me last night,” Aidan pointed out and Matt called out his agreeance, making Zayn shake his head with a reluctant smile and Liam point a disappointed-yet-amused expression at Louis. “But yes, my lady friend was wonderful, thank you very much. You weren’t the only one who got a good fuck last night.”

“Hey, you were the only one who bothered to _actually_ fuck someone,” Louis argued, not really sure of the point he was trying to make but going for it anyway. “Matt and I, we belong to the streets. We just go in for the head and get out before it gets complicated and someone gets pregnant.”

“We used protection, like any functional adults do!”

“You’re not exactly the brightest of us, though,” Niall teased, grinning like an idiot as he tossed the milk at Harry’s silent figure hanging around at the bench space beside the stove and jumped up on to the island beside Zayn, who shoved his shoulder affectionately. “Last time I did some scheduled stalking, I discovered you averaged a C-minus GPA score.”

“How did you even find that?” Aidan asked, incredulous as everybody else descended into laughter, Louis forcing himself not to for fear of making his head hurt more than it already was.

“Niall’s a creep, are you really surprised?” Liam pointed out and Niall cried out in protest, using his finger to slingshot the hair-tie that had been around his wrist at Liam’s head.

In the scuffle, Louis hardly noticed Harry coming up beside him and placing his bowl of cereal at the end of the island, still refusing to look at Louis even as Louis looked up at him with wide eyes.

“S’your head okay?” Harry asked quietly.

Louis gave a small shrug. “I mean, good as it can be, y’know, considering I almost blacked out from the alcohol.”

“You almost blacked out?” Harry demanded, suddenly protective as he planted a firm hand on Louis’ shoulder, still not looking at him. The touch was much more powerful than the little seductive touches along Louis’ waist yesterday, but it still made Louis shiver a fraction because _Jesus,_ any kind of touch from Harry with tension heavy in the air surrounding them was bound to make anybody jittery.

Louis hummed in affirmation, taking another quick sip of his water and thanking the Paracetamol for dulling the pain in his head the longer the medicine was digested into his system. “S’okay, though. I didn’t. Wasn’t that drunk.”

“But you were drunk enough to give some random bloke a blowjob in some random club bathroom?”

Louis choked on his drink and looked at Harry again with even wider eyes, startled to find the curly-headed boy already looking at him with something fierce and steely in his gaze.

“Um, yeah,” he coughed awkwardly, not breaking his gaze with Harry. Absolutely not – he’d never give in first, absolutely never. It was unfathomable, and Harry knew that too, flushing red in the cheeks as he looked away and bit at his bottom lip. “Somethin’ wrong with that?” Louis asked, feeling his voice turn a little skeptical. He’d known Harry had cared about the whole debacle, knew it had turned some sort of wheel in the younger boy’s head, because if it hadn’t bothered him then there wouldn’t be any kind of tension (sexual or not, because it definitely wasn’t just normal tension in the air) in that stupid kitchen.

Harry shook his head, turning back to his cereal and taking a spoonful. Louis gulped audibly as Harry licked at the stray droplets of milk on his pink and plump lips. “No, course it doesn’t matter,” Harry told him in a soft voice, sounding anxious. “’M not saying you can’t hook-up with people. It’s just…” He trailed off, seeming to take a moment to collect himself, before:

“It didn’t, like, mean anything, right? You and that guy.”

Louis felt his heart ache unpleasantly in his chest. So _that_ had been what was bothering Harry – it was plain to see in his slightly glassy eyes, not nearly as bright green as usual. He’d been worrying if that boy Louis had sucked off had meant anything to him, if having that stranger’s dick down his throat had changed something in Louis – made him _care._

Harry didn’t even _know_ the full story, didn’t know how Louis’ mind had been so foggy that he’d imagined Harry in the guy’s place instead, gentle and on his knees and making little happy whimpers in the back of his throat as Louis fucked in and out of his mouth without relent - -

Christ.

“Of course it didn’t matter, Haz,” Louis murmured, reaching out and stroking over the back of Harry’s palm, the hand having fallen from Louis’ shoulder when Harry had looked away and bitten his lip like some kind of seductive angel sent purely to drive Louis insane. “’Twas just a hook-up, love. Of course it didn’t matter to me, and I doubt it mattered much to him, either.”

Harry glanced up again and met Louis’ eyes and sighed, a small smile playing on those awfully beautiful lips. Louis felt a fraction better, knowing that the main weight on Harry’s shoulders had been lifted, but - -

They were okay. Not back to normal, if the dark shadow in the back of Harry’s gaze was any indicator (he was hiding something from Louis, and damn him if Louis wasn’t going to pester him until he revealed all because Louis couldn’t stand to see Harry so worked up over any kind of problem just because he was too stubborn to ask for help with it, too caught up in the idea that he was a burden when he was very much _not),_ but the underlying rippling current of tension between them seemed to melt away, and they were okay.

\--

Hours later, just before they go onstage for their performance of _Nobody Knows_ and Louis had down some sort of medication Savan had slipped him that would help down the raspy and broken quality of his voice (Louis had been briefly worried that they were steroids, but Savan had laughed and brushed him off, saying he’d be fired if they were steroids) _,_ Louis gripped the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him in close, so close their foreheads were pressed together. Harry had been pacing anxiously for the better part of three hours in the backstage area, and Louis was not about to let him spiral before they went on.

“We’re gonna smash it,” he told Harry confidently, tone hushed and firm and hyper, like it always was before they went on to perform. Harry’s lips were bitten red and raw, eyes frantic and wide and worried, cheeks flushed all red. He was certainly a sight to see, something Louis would berate himself over for admiring later, but he was cemented in the moment, shamelessly looking up and down Harry’s body before he met the curly-headed boy’s almost-jade eyes again. “We’re gonna absolutely smash it out of the water, like we always do. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry breathed, chest rising and falling unsteadily as he let his eyes flutter shut and he leaned in more against Louis like Louis was the only thing keeping him on Earth. “Love you, Lou.”

Louis’ heart swelled, and he managed to get out a rushed and fierce, “Love you too, Curly,” before Liam was dragging them into a group hug and they all cheered and sprinted out on to stage.

They smashed it, and Louis brought Harry into a rib-crushing embrace the moment they’d all tumbled backstage.

_(24 th of October)_

Another stressful round of Dermot reading out who made it through to the following round ended with celebratory cheers from the _One Direction_ boys and tears from Treyc and John, who were forced into competing in the bottom two. None of the boys had been super close with either contestant, so they had just watched on sadly from the sidelines and waved goodbye to John with the others back in the _House._

_(25 th of October)_

The boys were forced into the waking world at the absolutely awful hour of six a.m. by a familiar PA face shaking three out of five bandmates gently where they lay.

Louis, still plastered to Harry’s back as the younger waded his way through the cobwebs in his mind keeping him from full consciousness, groaned and yanked the duvet up over his and Harry’s faces when he heard Niall’s voice rise up alongside Zayn’s and whoever the PA lady was (Louis vaguely recognised her voice, but he couldn’t place it in the moment), making Harry snort and cuddle closer into Louis’ bare tanned chest.

After the adrenaline from their performance had worn down enough for the boys to feel even the slightest bit sleepy, Louis had crawled into his top bunk and promptly been stopped by a gentle hand in the middle of his shoulder-blades. He’d turned around and been met with a pair of soft and glimmering green eyes and flushed red cheeks, eyes lowered and guilty frown on his face.

“Can I…”

He hadn’t even needed to finish his sentence, Louis already pulling him up on to the bunk alongside the eldest member of the band. They more often than not ended up spooning whenever they shared the bunk, and that night had been no different with Harry all soft and pliant and spacey as Louis shifted them so his chest was against Harry’s back and their legs were all tangled up in the duvet.

It had been quite romantic, to say the least, but it wasn’t like either of them were going to acknowledge that.

“Louis and, erm, Harry, you two need to get up,” Liam murmured, if a little awkward as he tentatively pulled back the duvet so the two boys’ faces were revealed to him again. “Video diary recording has been moved up in the schedule. Claudia just came in and told us.”

So that was who the familiar voice belonged to. Louis almost wished he’d been awake so he could jump up and say hello to the woman. She was possibly the only reassuring figure in the entire array of _Modest!_ staff members and flittering PAs that were a constant presence in the contestants’ lives and Louis honestly felt bad he hadn’t thanked her for that yet. Perhaps he would if he actually got off his arse and by extension, officially woke Harry.

“Don’t wanna get up yet,” Harry slurred, voice syrupy and low, his words pretty much summarising Louis’ mood that would most likely last for the entirety of the week. _Nobody Knows_ had by fair been their most intense and draining performance so far, and it was obvious to see in the fact that Louis was just as exhausted as the rest of his bandmates were.

“C’mon Hazza,” Louis eventually got out, kicking back the duvet and shivering as the cool air of the bunk-room flooded over his skin. He studiously avoided looking at Harry’s naked bottom half despite getting an eyeful of it every morning, Louis still a little tentative as to what was okay and what wasn’t since his and Harry’s little bout of tension in the kitchen the prior morning.

Speaking of which, he still hadn’t managed to wrangle out the reason as to why Harry was so plagued and weighed down with - - with some kind of combination of sadness and bone-deep exhaustion.

He’d have time for that later, preferably after the video diary that Liam was still pestering them to get up for.

Once they were dressed, Harry grumbling and complaining enough like a child about the early wake-up call to compensate for all of them, one of the familiar production crews who often assisted in recording the video diaries ascended the various staircases to shuffle them back down to the stairs where they filmed each week.

Harry was steered towards the front step by one of the crew members – a kind looking brunette with hazel eyes to match her hair – and he clung to Louis’ jumper, pulling him down beside the curly-headed boy and leaning into his side with a tired exhale. Louis cooed fondly, tugging him closer and Harry let himself yawn, curling up into a little ball and letting his eyes close softly as Louis wrapped a scarf around his face and leaned back to doze on Zayn’s knees. Liam was leaning down against Niall’s back and the blonde was snoring with his mouth open against Zayn’s shoulder, the Bradford boy himself comfortable to lean back against Liam’s shins.

After the crews assembled the cameras and each boy was gently shaken awake by the same lady that had helped steer Harry to his place at the bottom of the stairs, the countdown began and the red recording lights went up.

Louis immediately thrust himself head-first into his Entertainer personality, loud and bubbly, yet assertive and sure of himself. It was completely different from his regular or Interview voice, his regular voice still loud and bubbly but less commanding and certain of everything he was doing and saying, while his Interview voice was more mature and even, soft and welcoming. Entertainer mode had no shame, was over-the-top and extravagant, while Interview mode was careful and light with just enough sass to make it fun instead of just a boring video of him talking.

Harry looked to his right to see Louis holding up his hand for a high-five while Zayn spoke about their ‘best performance yet’, and Harry was swift to indulge, connecting their palms with a ridiculously adorable and fond smile on his face. He knew he should’ve chimed in at that point to support Zayn’s point, but his head was still foggy and full of cobwebs and it didn’t help at all that his and Louis’ palms were still pressed together in the space between them and his blood was boiling and sparkling and he’d almost completely forgotten about his mum’s call and Louis’ stupid fucking hook-up when Louis finally broke the contact and turned away, probably to hide a yawn that he didn’t want the camera to see properly.

Louis leaned in closer at one point, his face directly in front of Harry’s lips and Harry felt his fond smile drop away a little, eyes lowering as he glanced at Louis’ own lips, and for a fleeting second, Harry found himself leaning forward, too.

_(29 th of October)_

“Okay, Haz, spit it out.”

Harry choked on his hot chocolate (he’d made this one himself, thank you very much, after he’d convinced Esther to teach him how to make it the way she did because that way had steadily become his favourite), and turned to face Louis with an incredulous look. The two of them were in the bunk-rooms, blasting Louis’ playlist through one of Zayn’s speakers they’d stolen a few hours earlier and planted on Niall’s bunk (which was technically Harry’s bunk, but the curly lad hardly ever used it anymore) because it was the bunk that created the best sound. Louis was star-fished out on the floor while Harry was bundled up in Louis’s bunk with all the blankets.

“Spit what out?” He asked, watching Louis carefully. “My hot chocolate? ‘Cause I’m _not_ spitting this out, absolutely no way.”

“No, you twat,” Louis snorted, shaking his head and raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Spit out what’s been on your mind this past week. I can basically taste that something’s up, seriously. I wanna help. What kind of best-friend doesn’t help their best-friend when they’re upset?”

Harry was quiet in Louis’ bunk, not responding as Louis sighed and turned down the volume of the speaker, the song playing vaguely recognisable but not enough for Harry to identify it.

“Haz,” he murmured gently, moving up and sitting next to Harry on his bunk, reaching up and carding a gentle hand through Harry’s freshly washed curls, all bouncy and warm and _so_ soft. “Haz, please. ‘ve been worried ‘bout you. Is this about the - - the hook-up thing? ‘Cause I promise it meant nothing, really.”

Harry hated the slight tremble in Louis’ voice, nervous in the way that the Doncaster lad never was. “No, no it’s not about that,” he reassured, his own voice a fraction more unstable than he wanted it. “I - - I know that meant nothing. ‘M sorry I was woked up over that. But, uhm, it’s - - “

He broke off, sniffling a little and rubbing at his eye while Louis waited.

“Mum called. Dad - - um, Dad signed the divorce papers.”

There was a brief stretch of silence between them and Harry could feel himself starting to tear up, fiercely rubbing at his eyes again and sniffling.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis murmured, voice breaking as he slid under the covers beside Harry and pulled the younger to him, fingers loosely knotting in the curls on the back of Harry’s head and resting his own chin on top of the younger boy’s, letting Harry bury himself into Louis’ chest with a shaky exhale. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he breathed out, and what he wanted to add was _it’s okay because you’re here with me,_ but he didn’t want to confront the implications that left, so instead he curled tighter into Louis’ body and let himself cry.

_(30 th of October)_

Harry looked up after the backing music of _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ faded into the background, finding his eyes immediately straying to Louis Walsh, who was smiling broadly at the five boys on stage grinning like the biggest idiots in the world. The judge surveyed them once, twice, before he said confidently, “I think there’s something great about you.”

The words stuck in Harry’s mind like they were glued there as he stumbled off stage with the boys following closely behind, performance adrenaline fresh and pulsing in their veins.

_Something great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sorry about the overload of sexual tension. :)  
> I'm taking a little bit of time off from doing anything, since I'm officially on my two month Christmas break. The next chapter will most likely be out before Christmas, but don't be surprised if it's out on Boxing Day instead. Merry Christmas everybody!


	6. 3rd of November 2010 - 11th of November 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think it is,” Harry argued, quiet and subdued, hearing a soft, barely-there sniffle on the other end of the phone again. “It’s good to cry, Lou. Releases tension. And - - “ He cut himself off, biting at his lip as he contemplated whether he should say his next thought or not.
> 
> Louis made the decision for him, biting out a tentative and anxious, “And what?”
> 
> “I think you’d look really pretty when you cry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!  
> I'm officially back from XMAS break. I absolutely blew all of my money on the boxing day sales and came away with some pretty cool stuff (I got my hands on custom-ordered Icarus Falls vinyl because they don't sell them in mainstream stores here!! Probably my favourite thing I bought with the money I was gifted. Ridiculously expensive, but entirely worth it).  
> I hope everybody had a lovely Christmas and to my fellow Australians, enjoy your summer holidays, because it's going to be over before we know it.  
> Enjoy the read! This one was going to be a complete monster, but I ended up splitting it so it's not too bad to read.  
> Anyway, I'll stop talking. Enjoy :) kudos and comments make my day!
> 
> P.S:  
> THIS IS THE SECOND LAST CHAPTER OF THE X-FACTOR ERA!!

_(3 rd of November)_

Louis needed to get out.

He needed to get away from the whole hustle of his new life, the loud noises and the overwhelmingly strict schedules and draining vocal rehearsals and the stupid fucking _meetings_ with people who thought it was okay to completely strip away who he really was in favour of fame and _reputation._

Three a.m. and Louis was woken by the insistent buzzing of his phone’s set alarm, much to Zayn’s displeasure if the half-asleep groan of _fuck off whoever’s on their phone_ was any indicator. Louis, wrapped around Harry like a shield, reached over the sleeping boy’s softly rising and falling chest and quickly clasped his phone, effectively disabling the alarm with two clicks to the main power button. He’d had possibly the most restless sleep of his entire life, dreams frantic and fast paced and just reliving his most recent meeting with Marlene Wilkinson, and he had the vague feeling that he’d been crying in the dreams but he couldn’t quite be sure (ignoring the slight burn behind his eyes in reality).

Still clasping his phone, Louis slowly disentangled himself from Harry’s soft and warm body, all inviting and pliant in the loveliest way and Louis leaned over to kiss his cheek reverently for no particular reason before he rose up from the bunk and slid silently down to the floor.

After getting changed into his warmest hoodie – a soft burgundy one with _Manchester University_ written in all capitals across the left breast – and some black jeans that were a fraction too loose on him, what with his deep curves set just before his hips to accompany his worn in white vans and low ankle socks that he’d slept in (kind of gross to keep wearing them, but it was whatever. Louis didn’t really give much of a shit).

And after spraying on some deodorant that smelled like Harry’s, all rosy and sweet in the way that Harry Edward Styles just _was,_ Louis left without a word.

\--

Louis had been gone for ten hours.

Ten hours, and Harry hadn’t heard a word from the Doncaster boy after waking up at 3:15am to Louis’ absence where the oldest of the band was usually spooning him from behind. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, thinking maybe Louis had just been downstairs grabbing some water or food, and he’d drifted back off into a dreamless sleep, content to stay in his bed for the rest of the week after such a draining performance only three days ago (sadly enough, they had another performance in ten days, and Harry couldn’t exactly excuse not showing up to vocal rehearsals as just being too tired to crawl out of bed).

Only a few hours later, an anxious Liam had shaken him awake and demanded to know if Harry knew where Louis was.

So. Louis was missing, and they only had two and a half days left to rehearse for their next performance on the fifth, but if Harry was honest (which he was _always_ honest, even if he didn’t necessarily want to be), he nor his bandmates were thinking much of how their performance was possibly going to be hindered.

They were just worried for Louis.

Harry had spent the last hour cuddled up with his bandmates on the floorspace in front of the living room couch, pretending to watch some comedy show that was playing obnoxiously loud on the tele, instead trying to figure out where the _fuck_ Louis had disappeared to.

“Maybe he somehow snuck back to Donny?” Zayn suggested in a quiet, contemplative voice. “He’s been missin’ his family a lot recently, ‘specially his mum, so maybe he went back there for a break.”

Harry made a soft humming noise in the back of his throat, feeling his eyebrows knit into a frown. “I don’t think so,” he admitted after a few moments of silence. “Louis wouldn’t just up ‘n go back to Donny without saying anything to us. It’s a huge thing for him, he loves Doncaster heaps, I don’t think he’d go off the grid to go back.”

“He has a point,” Liam agreed, fiddling with Niall’s wispy blonde locks in an attempt to bring some sort of control to them. The Irish boy in question was stretched out across all three of their laps, having not said a word since his original freak out regarding Louis’ disappearance, something that seriously worried Harry because usually Niall couldn’t shut the fuck up on a daily basis.

“So does that mean he’s still here in the city somewhere?” Zayn perked up.

“Most likely.”

“Then shouldn’t we go look for him?”

Niall finally spoke up after hours of dead silence. “We’re not allowed to. Asked Si ‘n the PAs earlier and we’re restricted to the _House_ and rehearsing studio for the rest of the day. Basically said we’re being monitored and if we step outta line, we’re fucked.”

_Oh._

Nobody said anything after that.

\--

Vocal rehearsal had been a complete and utter disappointment. They’d been doing so well up until that point, and it was all down to Louis’ absence. They were missing the damn backbone of the band, musically _and_ emotionally, and it was taking a huge toll on their performance skills. Liam was uncertain in remembering his verse because Louis hadn’t been there to go over them with him as he usually did, Zayn was suffering with volume issues he’d never had difficulty with before because he didn’t have Louis’ voice to balance out with when he always had before, Niall wasn’t as bubbly as usual because he was missing Louis’ energy that matched his, and Harry was hardly confident enough to do much more than stutter out his own lines.

Savan flicked the music off for what must’ve been the millionth time, gesturing for them to join him at the circle of chairs shoved just to the left of the stage for conversations. The vocal coach took the chair that was positioned slightly out from the circle as the boys took their respective ones, Harry climbing into Zayn’s lap instead of taking a seat for himself because he didn’t want to be separated for more than a moment from his bandmates.

“Boys, I know it’s tough without Louis here,” Savan started, sounding understanding and apologetic despite not having anything to apologise for. “But we have to persevere. Louis might not return from wherever he is before your performance day, and I know it’s a very unlikely scenario because he loves you boys and performing dearly, but we have to be prepared, nonetheless. It’s the consequence we have to deal with because he didn’t inform anybody of his whereabouts and how long he’d be gone for.”

“We can’t make it through this week without Louis,” Liam argued, firm and slightly unnerving. “He’s the backbone of this entire thing, and it doesn’t even matter that he doesn’t have a solo - - “

“Which is total bullshit,” Harry muttered, meaning every word, and Zayn nodded in agreement.

“ - - because he doesn’t _need_ a solo to be the most important part of this band, musically and personally. You _know_ that, Savan.”

Liam finished his little spiel, leaning back in his chair and bringing his palms up to rub over his face in an anxious manner.

“I understand that,” Savan told them. “But sadly, it doesn’t change our circumstances at all. We just have to work with what we have until he comes back, even if it means we’re nowhere near as good and on point as we usually are.”

\--

Louis was curled up with Stan, watching _The Lion King,_ the movie they’d watched as little kids when they’d gotten bored out of their minds, knowing it would entertain them and make them smile dumbly (well, not exactly _little_ kids, considering they’d met in their first year of high-school at Hayfield – before they’d moved to Hall Cross – because they were both playing for the junior football team, making them twelve or thirteen and not-so small. Louis still called them small though, since he’d been _literally_ small, probably just over 5”0, if he were honest), when he received another fresh back of texts.

**_Hazza <3_ **

4:35 PM

_Lou, please come back. vocal practice_

_was shit cause none of us can think_

_w’out worrying ‘bout you. That sounds_

_really shitty but we fkn need you okay,_

_musically and emotionally. i need you._

4:37 PM

_we’re all really worried._

4:41 PM

_at LEAST tell us you’re safe. please._

_tell ME you’re safe._

Louis sighed, flicking off the phone and tossing it on the floor in front of the couch, cuddling closer into Stan’s side and reaching for the bag of chicken flavoured crisps wedged between their hips. He felt absolutely awful ignoring Harry like that, but he had no idea how else to go about it, since responding wasn’t an option because management was tracking his every move (and even though it seemed like something out of a spy movie, Louis knew _somehow_ that Simon and _Modest!_ would found out where he was).

Stan smiled sadly without looking away from the TV, ruffling Louis’ hair before he gestured vaguely towards where the phone was on the floor. “Somebody from the show?”

Louis nodded with a little groan, rubbing at his face and batting Stan’s hand away from his hair. “Wish we were back in Donny,” he muttered. “Playin’ footie for the senior team ‘n smashin’ out the championship league like we did every year. Or even for the Donny _Rovers_ again. I miss those guys.”

“Babes, we officially graduated last year,” Stan reminded him playfully, giving a semi-rough shoulder shove to accentuate his point. “No way we’d be able to go ‘n play for the school teams anymore, at Hayfield _or_ Hall Cross. Maybe the _Rovers,_ though. I miss those lads, too.”

“You get my point, though.”

Stan hummed, his hand drifting almost subconsciously back to Louis’ hair and stroking through it. “I do, I do, lad. I just don’t understand why you wanna ditch all _this._ I was under the impression you loved it.”

Louis sighed overdramatically, letting his eyes close as the _Hakuna Matata_ scene began to play on the television screen. “I don’t want to ditch it, Staniel. I do love it. I jus’ - - I jus’ needed a break for a bit. Got all intense wit’ the meetings and expectations, y’know? Reminded me of Hayfield, almost. Made it worse.”

“Well,” Stan started, understanding writhing through his reassuring tone of voice. “I’m flattered that you came to me for assistance. I knew stayin’ in one of those gross hotels would be worth it.”

“Oi, wanker, this place is literally rated four stars,” Louis laughed, slapping his friend half-heartedly across the face, making Stan snort and pinch him _hard_ in the side, much to Louis’ displeasure (and the sharp cry of pain was definitely proof of that to Stan’s eyes, which just made his friend laugh harder and go to pinch him again).

They fell into another comfortable silence, Louis buried into Stan’s side while they sang along to the ending notes of _Hakuna Matata,_ Stan sounding absolutely horrible ( _“Like a broken recorder,” Louis would tease him later, earning him a hard kick in the balls)_ while Louis sounded bloody brilliant (and _no,_ he wasn’t been self-centred in saying that because it was the real truth).

“You should really text whoever that was back,” Stan said through a suppressed yawn.

Louis shook his head without opening his eyes. “I will. Just not yet. Can we finish this and then watch _Aladdin?_ Because I’ll text back after that. Jus’ need a lil’ more time.”

\--

Three hours later and after nothing getting much better with Savan down in the studio, Harry’s phone was buzzing insistently on the kitchen island beside his anxiously twitching fingers with a number he didn’t recognise.

He’d been waiting all day for a text or a call or hell, even a damn _email_ from Louis to let him and the boys know that the eldest member of their band was safe, so he figured he couldn’t really be blamed when his hand darted out to accept the call so quickly that he fumbled it and almost dropped the device on the hard wood floors.

“’Lo?” He answered in a quiet, shaking voice, nervously awaiting for whoever had called him to speak up before he lost his nerve and ended the call (because Katie really had a point that having an unrecognisable number or a _no caller ID_ thing on his phone was rather terrifying). “Who is this?”

“S’me, Hazza,” the voice on the other side of the line answered softly, and Harry could’ve cried in relief. “S’Lou.”

“Oh my god, Louis,” Harry breathed out in one exhale, hearing hasty shuffling around the room as his fellow bandmates crowded in on either side, having dispersed around the kitchen area all mopey and tired. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you safe? Where _are_ you?”

Harry couldn’t help but be worried when Louis responded, reply absent of sarcasm or amusement or anything that usually told Harry that the boy from Doncaster was okay. “’M with Stan at a hotel near here,” he told Harry after a few moments of silence, and Harry couldn’t help but feel his heart give an ancient jolt at how tired his friend sounded. “’M okay. We were watchin’ a movie. Stan’s just gone out to grab some snacks, cus’ the dumbarse didn’t bring any with him to the hotel when he first booked in. ‘M so sorry I didn’t respond to any of you boys. It was shitty of me.”

Harry was a little dumbfounded, to be completely honest. Why on Earth would Louis have just… _Left,_ without any word to anybody? Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to risk the repercussions.

But then again, Harry wondered if that was specifically _why_ Louis hadn’t informed anyone of his whereabouts.

“I’m glad you’re with Stan,” Harry conceded after a few moments, feeling Zayn lean against his left side and Niall against his right while Liam braced his strong, reassuring hands on his shoulders, massaging his thumbs into the tensed muscles in a practiced manner that had Harry relaxing with a gentle sigh. “He loves you a lot. But, Lou… Why did you leave? We’ve been worried sick all day. Niall didn’t talk for at least five hours after he found out you were missing, and we both know that’s a huge thing.”

He earned a sharp elbow in the side from the blonde for that, but Harry didn’t need to look at him to see he was smiling in a small manner.

There was a sharp inhale on the other side of the phone, a shout of _hey loser, I’m fuckin’ back_ in the background that must’ve been Stan returning back to the hotel room, and Harry heard Zayn snort on his left in amusement because he must’ve heard the exclamation. Louis didn’t speak for a few seconds, to Stan nor the boys, before he took in another deep breath and exhaled forcefully.

“I, erm. I just needed a break. It was too much for me, y’know, all the noise ‘n PAs and stress. And I - - I know you’re going to say that sounds like bullshit, because I don’t really let shit get to me, but, like, I couldn’t help it. I just needed to get away for a while.” There was some static on the other side of the phone, followed by a little sniffle and Louis muttering out _fuck_ in a choked sounding voice. “Jus’ had a shit thing yesterday. Doesn’t matter.”

“What _thing?”_ Zayn snapped, taking the phone out from beside Harry’s ear and slamming it down on the kitchen island, flicking it on to speaker phone. “What thing made you cry, Louis? Because you don’t fucking cry. You don’t get upset, and when you do, you don’t fuckin’ show it in ways other than being an annoying arsehole and making everybody laugh because it makes yourself feel better.”

“’M not crying,” Louis argued in a weak voice, completely unconvincing as he sniffed again, harsher and more intense, like he was forcing himself to not tear up. “Jus’ upset. Not cryin’. Don’t need people seein’ or hearin’ me cry, Zayn.”

“Why not?” Harry interjected again, feeling his throat closer over as he rubbed at his eyes to stop himself for following Louis’ lead and tearing up. “It doesn’t matter, Lou. It really doesn’t.” The other three members of the band echoed his statement and Louis laughed, all dry and sarcastic on the other side and Harry could feel his eyes burning a little.

“It’s - - it’s embarrassing, because like, I’m supposed to be the strong one,” Louis argued, and there was some shuffling on the other side of the line that sounded like Louis cuddling into Stan as the other boy slammed himself down on the couch. “I’m supposed to be the big brother, the comforter, what - - whatever they’re labelling me. It’s shameful if I cry.” There was a squawk of protest on the other side of the line as Stan undoubtedly smacked Louis across the face, and Harry heard Zayn snort in amusement to the left of the curly boy.

“I don’t think it is,” Harry argued, quiet and subdued, hearing a soft, barely-there sniffle on the other end of the phone again. “It’s good to cry, Lou. Releases tension. And - - “ He cut himself off, biting at his lip as he contemplated whether he should say his next thought or not.

Louis made the decision for him, biting out a tentative and anxious, “And what?”

“I think you’d look really pretty when you cry.”

\--

Louis hung up the phone, and promptly began to bawl in Stan’s arms.

|||

_(4 th of November)_

“Want me to drive you back?” Stan asked quietly, holding Louis close to him as the two boys embraced in the doorway of Stan’s hotel room.

Louis smiled into Stan’s collarbone, eyes closed and breathing slow. “That’d be nice, mate,” he said in a small voice, relaxed and syrupy and _smooth._ Almost lazy. “Only if y’want.”

“’Course I want,” Stan responded earnestly, hands stroking up and down Louis’ back reassuringly. They were both exhausted from watching movies all night after Louis’ breakdown, and when they got tired they were marginally clingier with each other than usual (something Lottie bullied them for _relentlessly._ Stan usually just threw something at her while laughing to get her to shut up). Because of that, they’d barely had enough energy to throw some clothes on (Louis had gone for a soft grey sweater and black trackies, while Stan had literally just stayed in his pyjamas and only bothering to try and tame his hair).

Stan continued speaking, voice a little muffled because of his face being buried in Louis’ soft hair. “Lewis, try to give a reason as to why I’d offer to drive ya back to the _House_ if I didn’t want to.”

“To be polite,” Louis slurred with a cheeky smile as Stan barked a laugh.

“Since when have I ever been polite?”

Louis rolled his eyes, finally drawing back from their embrace with a raised eyebrow and arms folded over his chest. “Since your mother threatened to disassemble your body the last time you told Lottie to fuck off and she witnessed it.”

“Well, she’s not here, is she? So hurry your arse up and let’s get my car.”

\--

Harry threw himself into Louis’ arms the moment the boy walked into the kitchen area. He hadn’t slept the night before, eyes-red rimmed from crying because Louis had hung up and hair all messy from not being brushed, but neither boy cared as Louis locked his arms around Harry and fiercely whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Harry just held him as the other boys piled on with shouts of delight, the curly-headed boy responding with an equally as fierce murmur, “It’s not your fault.”

Maybe he was biased.

He supposed that didn’t really matter in the long run.

|||

_(9 th of November)_

It was strange how Louis often found himself in Simon’s office for meetings that unsettled him beyond belief, especially after the one with Marlene Wilkinson that had driven him to leave the _House_ without notice a few days prior, yet he still crawled there whenever he needed time to clear his head.

If he wasn’t in one of those ‘publicity training’ meetings, sometimes Zayn would join him, looking for peace and quiet while he leaned against Louis’ shoulder, the two of them bundled up on the same chair while the younger played on his phone or in a little diary he’d bought the last time the boys had gone out shopping (Louis found it positively adorable, to be completely honest. He loved his best friend so much).

Liam only joined him when he was bored out of his mind and clueless as to what to do with himself, instead talking out his little nagging worries with Louis until he was too tired to talk anymore and dozed off on Louis’ thigh.

Sometimes Niall would sneak up with him for a nap or just general friends-hanging-out stuff, slung across Louis’ lap while he’d ramble on about something he’d seen online that he wanted to buy while Louis just smiled and nodded along, carding skilled fingers through the blonde, wispy hair.

Harry would sometimes sit with him, too. He’d cradle himself between Louis’ knees, his back to the older boy’s chest as he talked aimlessly about weird ideas or thoughts or even useless things like the importance of different colours and flowers, curls tickling the soft skin of Louis’ face and neck. He’d taken to it most days since _Belle Amie_ had been sent home, eyes red-rimmed and watery, body a lovely kind of pliant that Louis just absolutely adored but couldn’t help but be sad over in recent times because it meant Harry was missing the girls who’d quickly become some of their closest companions on the show. But before they’d been sent home, things hadn’t been much different when Harry joined him in the office – just minus the post-crying eyes.

Sometimes all five of them would cram themselves together in the room, craving the special time together they’d been missing ever since the bungalow, really. They’d sprawl together and talk about everything and anything, legs and arms tangled together and Louis’ head usually on Zayn’s chest with Harry curled up in a ball in his lap like some sleepy kitten while Liam and Niall piled on from either side, laughing at some stupid offhand joke Harry had made because okay, _sometimes_ Harry made half-decent jokes.

And sometimes - -

Sometimes it was just Louis.

He didn’t understand why he was comfortable enough to relax in an office that had brought him such internal turmoil, but somehow, he was okay there. It didn’t matter if Simon was there or not, because the man had never batted at eyelid if he’d show up to his office and Louis was already there, reading through an article or something on phone anxiously while biting at his lip. The man would hold business meetings and phone calls with him there without any complaint, sometimes even asking Louis afterwards if he’d learned anything or if he had any questions.

Louis always answered affirmative, and Simon was always willing to indulge him. He’d had a meeting with the man just a few hours prior, and he’d found himself having more questions than answers but wasn’t entirely fussed over it because he was content with the answers he’d gotten (Simon had discussed with him the different media techniques to portray certain aspects of a celebrity’s life, and even though a lot of them had negative repercussions on him – who was definitely going to fall victim to some of the methods despite Simon lying to his face that he wasn’t – and anybody else who was put through them, Louis had found it extremely fascinating to learn more about the _other_ side of the music industry besides the performances and hit singles and albums).

_“But how do negatively impacting articles in larger papers and on more popular network systems get, I don’t know, invalidated? How are they countered?” He’d asked with wide eyes, leaning back in his chair as he read over one of the old reports Simon had given him on Justin Bieber’s rise to fame (Louis had experienced a bit of a fanboy moment internally, but he’d never admit that), and all of the negativity that had been countered had shocked him to his core (not that he’d thought Justin was necessarily a good person, because he definitely wasn’t). “Like, there’s so much dirty shit against this kid, but it’s all mostly been countered.”_

_Simon had hummed, shuffling through his stacks of paperwork before handing another stapled pile over the desk to Louis. “It really depends on what the negative statement is and where it’s from,” he explained. “Say for example, Taylor Swift or Kylie Jenner were being attacked by BBC 1 radio. If it was just soft slander, like commenting on their bodies for whatever reason, it would be countered through a simple thing, like an Instagram post just of them being body-positive, or a quick answer to a neutral, PR-supplied question in an interview saying that they don’t care much for whatever people call them. That kind of thing. If it was a more pressing claim, such as them being racist or homophobic – which neither of them are, mind you – then there would be a bigger, more personal statement required from the victim that would be published on multiple platforms or even included in their next magazine shoot. Lawsuits could be involved, too, if the claim is completely fake with no proof to back it up.”_

Louis had, quite frankly, been absolutely stunned at the complexity of such situations in counteracts regarding negative talk about celebrities. He’d thought maybe the PR leaders would’ve just made the person slandering the celebrity remove it and submit a formal apology, or whatever. Of course, that was still a valid option in negating such statements, but he’d been fairly surprised it wasn’t the first course of action.

That night was one of the nights where it was too hot for Louis and Harry to share a bed, but Harry was still too twitchy and on edge to sleep on his own, so they were laid out on the new miniature sofa in the kitchen that they’d become quite fond of. They’d dragged the blankets from both of their bunks out with them to the sofa alongside Liam’s computer if they wanted to watch or movie or television show at some point.

Louis couldn’t blame Harry for being upset – from his parents’ official divorce and all of the things that it entailed to Louis spending an unhealthy amount of time in Simon’s office in place of wreaking havoc among the other contestants, it was bound to create a kind of storm within the younger boy’s anxiety-ridden mind. Louis wasn’t about to just let him suffer alone.

At around halfway through another episode of _Friends_ (Harry had insisted that they watch it, considering Louis hadn’t watched the show the entire way through for a little over a year, which was – quote un-quote – _ghastly_ ), Harry turned over on to his side to meet Louis’ tired blue eyes while Louis continued to ramble on about his meeting with Simon (without actually mentioning that it was a meeting, mind you. Harry was under the impression that Simon had been working and Louis had been embracing his inner nosy bastard persona, and Louis wanted to keep it that way. He knew it would hurt Harry if he knew how many meetings Louis had been dragged into at _Fountain Studios_ already).

“It’s like, mad right, because they don’t automatically go to those really cringy things where they make the offender confess and apologise over what they did, y’know? ‘Cause I thought that was just always what they did, but it’s not.” He paused to take a much-needed breather before continuing. “They like, go through these super complex PR processes where they classify the strength of the negativity and how widespread the belief of it is and _then_ they go into tactics to invalidate it. If it’s minor n’ stuff then they don’t actually _do_ much, they like, ask the victim to post something quick and simple about how the whole thing was wrong ‘n whatever or answer a PR-supplied question about it in an interview basically denying whatever the negative statement was.

“But if it’s major, then they go into more detail with it ‘n everythin’. There’d be a more personal retaliation, like a whole statement about it realised _everywhere,_ even in magazine shoots they do. It’s honestly - - “

“Lou,” he murmured softly, interrupting Louis’ almost fanboyish rant, cuddling closer and throwing his leg over the older boy’s thigh, effectively tangling them together. His eyes drifted from the locked gaze he had with the Doncaster boy, instead watching his own stupidly long fingers trace the outline of Louis’ collarbone and then his jaw with soft, delicate and _very_ distracting touches that were making Louis’ cheeks flush a gentle pink and his breath stutter.

“Hmm?” The older of the two murmured, making a little embarrassing noise in the back of his throat as Harry’s skilful fingers found the sensitive spot at the V of his jawline, stroking over it in such a way that had Louis squirming and batting Harry away half-heartedly. Harry just chuckled, the smug bastard, his fingers shifting from the spot (that was sending heated tingles through Louis’ body that he’d never admit to) back to the older boy’s collarbones, seeming to collect himself enough to figure out what to say.

“How can you be energised enough to even think about this kind of stuff when we had such a draining video diary yesterday?” The younger queried around a yawn. It was true – all of them had found their last video diary a little tough to record. “But, I think I really wanted to ask, why do you, I don’t know, trust Simon enough to talk to him about your thoughts? And why do you trust him enough that you believe what he says about this stuff?”

It wasn’t something Louis was expecting Harry to ask about, if he was honest. Perhaps he’d expect Harry to ask if he trusted the man behind all of it, or _why_ Louis trusted him, and maybe that had been an implied question that he hadn’t been explicitly asking. Either way, he hadn’t been expecting the particular question the curly-headed boy had asked of why Louis trusted Simon enough to ‘talk to him about his thoughts’.

“I don’t think I _actually_ trust him all that much,” he responded after a few moments of contemplation, frowning a little as he tried to collect his thoughts. “He’s said himself that he’d use a bunch of PR tactics, no matter how cruel they are, if the situation deemed it necessary. I can’t really bring myself to trust a man like that, yeah? But… I know it’s out for two things: a successful show and making the biggest amount of profit possible through any means required. And since we’re his only option now – “ Harry gave a soft sniffle at that, burying impossibly closer into Louis’ side, “ – all his decisions regarding us at the moment are going to be for our benefit, no matter how extreme or fucked up they may seem.”

Harry’s eyes had drifted shut at some point, but Louis could tell he’d been attentively listening to every word the older of the two had been saying in the way the younger twisted so he could rest his head on Louis’ chest with a small frown on his face. “I get that, Lou, but how the hell do you have the willpower to even seat near that man? He’s possibly one of the worst people in existence, and y’ _know_ it. He’s gonna take advantage of us.”

Louis smiled almost sadly, throwing a loose arm around Harry’s shoulder in the quiet _House,_ everybody else dead asleep in their beds, the only sounds being the two boys’ soft breaths and the slightly grainy quality of the sound coming from Liam’s computer that was still on its _Friends_ marathon. “I know, Haz, I get what you’re saying. It’s undeniable that ol’ Uncle Si would make us do anything if it meant it would increase the profit he made off us. He cares about the money more than the effects on us personally, because it makes him look even more successful, and that’s going to hurt us one day, no doubt about it.” It had already started hurting Louis irreversibly, but that wasn’t relevant (it was, but. Yeah. He had no excuse). “But what he does, all the behind the scenes, it’s like - - fucking fascinating, y’know? It’s so complicated but so well executed that it’s kinda impossible not to carry some semblance of respect for all of the people behind it, even if they don’t make the best decisions when it comes to their clients’ personal lives.”

He paused to take a sharp inhale, eyes locking with Harry’s and he couldn’t resist smiling like he was looking at the person who hung the fucking stars. He continued without breaking Harry’s gaze, feeling all soft and fuzzy.

“Like, for example, Justin Bieber. Simon gave me a report to read on him and sure, they fucking exploited that kid and crossed so many lines, especially considering he’s so young, but look where he is now, yeah? It’s disgusting that they resorted to some of the things they did, but a lot of what they did was totally ethical and now he’s one of the biggest names in the pop music industry. It’s the ethical stuff that’s impressive, y’know, ‘cause it’s so well done. I think it just shows that, like, these people will do anything for money, and that means they have to portray us in the best way possible. I think that’s why I have a decent enough respect for Simon, but don’t necessarily trust him.”

Harry fell silent, watching Louis with wide eyes and fluffy curls, all childlike and pretty. He seemed to be turning over Louis’ words in his mind, processing them, before he responded.

“I think it’s just disappointing that those bad things _do_ happen to artists in the industry,” the younger of the two replied carefully, frowning and averting his eyes from Louis’ as he spoke. “Like that woman who always watches us now and pulls you aside. Wilkinson? Yeah, her. Like, they don’t _have_ to do that, and it’s kind of an invasion of privacy, but they do it anyway. And that’s just, like, an _eighth_ of the tip of the iceberg, yeah?”

Louis definitely saw his point, so he hummed in eloquent response and let the noise from the computer wash over their intertwined bodies. Harry began to slowly stroke over his collarbones again, and Louis fought off the instinctive shiver at the contact.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, just above a whisper. “Yeah, I know, Harry.”

|||

_(10 th of November)_

On the tenth of November, 2010, Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles and Aidan Grimshaw were planning yet another little getaway-to-a-club from the _House._

Louis had honestly been pretty surprised when Aidan had agreed to Harry coming this time around, considering his rather adamant behaviour last time around when he’d refused to allow the curly-headed boy’s attendance. But, nonetheless, upon seeing Louis’ pleading face, the eldest of their little trio threw his hands up with a grin and said, “More the merrier,” promptly collapsing backwards on his bed and dragging Louis down too, who’d squawked indignantly as he’d ended up tumbling to the wooden floors.

So, there they were, Louis, Harry and Aidan spread across Aidan’s unnaturally comfortable bed, planning out how to avoid PAs, Simon _and_ the papers.

“I guess we’re all in agreeance that the back exit myself, Lewis and Matty used last time is off limits,” Aidan stated, brows furrowed in concentration as he looked over the map of the entire _X-Factor_ complex connected to the _House._ Harry was looking over it too, all serious and admittedly adorable as he looked over all the exits in search of one that would draw the least amount of attention to the three miscreants.

“What about the back exit near the bathrooms on the second floor of the studio?” Louis suggested, finally pushing his way into the conversation from where he was leaning back against the wall next to Aidan’s bed, legs criss-crossed in front of him and arms folded over his chest. “It goes out on to the corner of the street opposite the main exit that we always get papped at, and there’s a staircase leading down directly to the sidewalk.”

Aidan made a sound of triumph and fist bumped the air before Harry cut in.

“But if that door leads directly out on to the sidewalk, wouldn’t it be locked for staff and contestant safety?” The youngest of the trio pointed out, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips as his frown deepened. “How would we get out through there if we don’t have a key?”

“I can pick locks like the ones on the doors here,” Louis interjected swiftly, nudging Harry’s shoulder with a fond smile on his face. “Have an awful lot of practice from always having to break into Lottie’s room and steal back my hairbrush in the morning.”

Ignoring Aidan’s amused little snort, Louis watched Harry’s eyes light up and a small smile cross his features.

It was an image Louis would never be able to forget, absolutely never – not even if he suffered from brain damage. He didn’t understand why it was so precious to him, seeing Harry all carefully joyous with his pink flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, but it just _was._ And he’d hold the picture close in his mind for eternity.

It hurt his heart a little.

“Okay, so, if we leave now we’ll avoid mainstream traffic ‘n cameras,” Aidan said, effectively snapping Louis out of the moment. The three of them were going to the club that Louis had gone to last time (where he’d given a random guy a drunken blowjob, but Harry didn’t have to know that it was _that_ club) so they knew the route well enough, and the paparazzi weren’t expecting them to go to a place where they’d gotten mobbed at before (yes, Louis had done some intense Twitter research to gather that information. More than he’d ever done in high-school, that was for sure). They also didn’t check for IDs at the entrance point, so Harry could slip in easily. “And that means, as long as one of us stays sober, we won’t get noticed by paps on the way out. I’ll stay sober this time, alright?”

Louis shot Aidan a disbelieving look that was quickly shot down by a harsh shoulder nudge from Harry that plainly said _agree with it or one of us can’t get drunk._

That definitely shut Louis up.

\--

“Honestly, what kind of music is this?” Harry shouted over the pounding speakers in the club, dancing with Louis a little left from the centre. Aidan had abandoned them sometime ago to visit the bar, leaving the two younger boys on the dancefloor, Louis already less-than sober and Harry well on his way to joining Louis as he downed another shot of whatever was in the red cups being passed around (Harry figured it was vodka, but he could never be one-hundred-percent sure).

The song blasting over the speakers was some kind of intense R&B song, something perhaps Zayn would listen to, but definitely not either of the two boys dancing like idiots.

“I don’t know,” Louis called back, moving closer to Harry and grinning as he circled his hips and ran a hand through Harry’s soft curls as the younger’s breath hitched in his chest and his eyes went a little glassy.

They had to have been significantly intoxicated if what was happening was _actually_ happening, the two of them dancing so close together that they may as well have been grinding on each other, Harry all soft and pliant in Louis’ arms, but it wasn’t like Louis was going to complain as he grinned and winked at the younger boy. The older of the two snatched up another cup of watermelon vodka and downing it in one go, not having to see Harry at all to know that the curly-headed boy was watching Louis’ throat work to swallow the liquid with his lips slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering – an undoubtedly attractive image and one that Louis was sorry for himself to be missing.

“You gotta admit, Curly,” Louis started after he tossed the red cup away somewhere, hoping it didn’t hit anybody else out dancing. “The music adds to the atmosphere of the club.”

“If the atmosphere is purely sex, then it’s fairly successful,” Harry bantered back, flushed as he continued dancing, a few steps closer to Louis’ than he had been before, so close that their hips brushed if they moved just right. Louis’ head was going fuzzy with whatever was sizzling in his blood at that point, and he could see Harry declining into a similar state as he tugged the younger boy closer by the collar of his dark red shirt that was too bloody sheer for Louis to have ever hoped to keep his composure – intoxicated or not.

“Louis,” Harry rasped, voice all wrecked from the alcohol and the dehydration from dancing, and Louis groaned a little in the back of his throat before he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, not even fully conscious of his own actions. “Lou, what - - “

“Shh,” Louis murmured, holding Harry close as the song changed over to something that sounded like _Rihanna_ and they continued to dance, gazes locked and cheeks flushed. Louis couldn’t have stopped what he was doing if his mother barged into the place and forced him to stop, it wasn’t a conscious choice, it was just what he _had_ to do.

So. Naturally, Louis tilted his head to the side and pressed a soft kiss to the column of Harry’s throat.

 _“Lou,”_ Harry moaned softly, eyelashes fluttering as his hands scrambled at Louis’ shoulders, looking for something to hold on to as Louis kissed over his throat reverently, grinning drunkenly all the while.

“This okay?” Louis breathed on to Harry’s skin, because he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t remember to ask for official consent.

All Harry could do was nod.

And then Louis bit down right over Harry’s pulse-point and _sucked,_ and Harry lurched forward to moan unabashedly into Louis’ neck, the younger’s hips moving against Louis’ of their own accord.

“Fuck,” he breathed and Louis laughed quietly, holding Harry close as he continued his ministrations on Harry’s neck, gentle and soft, even as he left a pale trail of hickeys across the younger’s collarbones that the shirt would ultimately cover when it was pulled back up. Harry was making small noises in the back of throat, quiet whimpers that were driving Louis insane as he ground forward in a dirty rhythm, making Harry whine into Louis’ ear.

“Friends don’t do this,” Harry hissed through gritted teeth, but it didn’t sound like he cared much as he whimpered again when Louis bit down a little too hard near the mark already blossoming over the younger’s pulse.

“Sure they do,” Louis hummed against Harry’s pale skin, making Harry full-body shudder in his grip, both of them bordering on unhealthily intoxicated, heads swimming and eyes glassy and unfocused. “’ve given Li plenty of love-bites. Just think of it like that. ‘s a thing that friends do.”

Harry didn’t even really process his drunken words before he let them spill from between his bitten lips. “You do that to make him flustered though,” he mumbled out in protest, feeling a spark of arousal in his abdomen, intensified tenfold by the alcohol running through his veins. “I want you to do it for me so it’s _ours._ I want it to just be _us,_ not Liam, too.”

_Oh._

Louis could do that.

“Well,” he chuckled quietly, the rhythm of the song blasting over the speakers sinking deep into his veins. “I can think of something that can just be us instead of us _and_ Liam.”

He didn’t give Harry any warning as he pulled back from the younger’s neck, making a soft and vulnerable noise in the back of his throat at the dark hickeys littered across the pale surface. Harry whined a fraction at the loss of contact, jerking in Louis’ grip again, but he wasn’t given much time to drunkenly complain before Louis pulled the collar of his shirt far enough down to suck an even darker mark just above his left nipple.

 _“_ Oh, _fuck,”_ he groaned, hand drifting instinctively to the back of Louis’ head and fingers interlacing with the wispy and soft strands, making Louis hum as he drew back and let Harry’s shirt collar fall back into place, the smug bastard licking his lips as he surveyed Harry’s flushed figure once more, shaking and _hard,_ fuck, he was _hard_ in his pants because of Louis, _damn him_ and damn _Harry_ for being so easy to work up.

“There,” Louis said, sounding accomplished as he continued to dance and reached for another drink. “There’s something that’s ours. Just ours.”

\--

Aidan retrieved them sometime later after Harry had escaped to the bathroom – the very public bathroom that Louis had given a very drunken blowjob in what seemed like a lifetime ago – for a quick, unsatisfactory wank just to ease the heady pressure weaving its way through his entire body (it hadn’t even completely dissolved yet, mind you. It must’ve been the alcohol making him feel everything like it was a fucking bonfire going on inside his lower stomach) and Louis had flirted with ninety-percent of the club dwellers.

“Rightio, boys,” the eldest of their trio declared, loud enough to break through their drunken hazes. “Time to leave before Louis breaks another heart and Harry… Well, before Harry murders his braincells and has his neck ravished _again,_ holy fuck, dude. Let’s go.”

Harry and Louis had shared one look that told all, and the bonfire in Harry’s abdomen lit up like a fucking radioactive storm.

|||

_(11 th of November)_

Louis had passed out only a few minutes after he and Harry had stumbled into the boys’ shared bunk-room, both of them far too out of it to really process the shocked exclamations from all three of their bandmates at the excessive litter of hickeys along Harry’s skin and Louis’ satisfied and spacy expression. They’d promptly collapsed into Louis’ bunk, sweaty and tired and sore, and they’d fallen asleep just like that despite their bandmates’ efforts to try and ease them into it more comfortably.

Both boys woke up the following morning with almost no recollection of what had happened the previous night, and after he’d thrown up – thanks to the wicked hangover he was sporting – into the toilet, Harry had gone ghostly pale at the sight of what seemed like a million love-bites all across his throat and collarbones.

And the one on his chest that continued to ache, like a fresh tattoo.

Harry wrote down _LOVE – tattoo over heart_ in his little diary sometime later when he thought he could stomach the sight of words and colour without throwing up again. He didn’t even really understand why there was some part of him, buried deep in his brain that was insisting on the tattoo, like the hickey meant something when it seriously _didn’t,_ but - -

But maybe it did.

And Harry Styles wasn’t taking any chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T HIT ME FOR THE MINOR CLIFFHANGER-  
> Okay, so, the original version of this chapter almost went for a whole month - hence why I split it in half. Again. So, basically, this is a part-one of a two-part chapter that is the end of part one of this fic? I hope that's not too confusing.  
> I promise there won't be many chapters going for a month or longer, but I can warn you in advance that there are a few (mostly in 2013 and 2015. Get excited for 2016 - it's literally only three or four chapters long, unless I decide to add more to it). 
> 
> not really any notes for this one, considering it's all written out, but here's a few.
> 
> \- Louis actually did disappear from the X-Factor House on the 3rd, and the press claimed that he went home to Doncaster for a break without informing anyone. I personally don't think he actually went back to Doncaster, so that's why I wrote it so he went to Stan (who WAS in Donny at this point in time, but for the sake of the plot I made it so he was staying in a close by hotel).  
> \- I just finished Unbelievers after years of promising myself I'd read it, so I'm blaming that for me absolutely fucking loading this fic with sexual tension.  
> \- I honestly got kind of emotional writing the final scene out, which is something I wasn't expecting because I don't often get overwhelmed by my own writing, but this just hit me super hard, even though it's such a minor part. I love them so much.
> 
> love you guys so much!! thank you for all the support.


	7. 13th of November 2010 - 6th of December 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome back to the land of the living, lovely mister virgin Hazza,” he said teasingly, voice all fond and gentle as he reached out to stroke a careful hand through Harry’s curls and move them out of the younger’s face as Harry pouted at the completely unnecessary virginity comment. “Now proper wake up for me, babes. I want you to teach me how to cook, ‘n you bein’ sleepy would be a health ‘n safety issue, f’sure.”
> 
> That certainly woke Harry up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I may have lied when I said this chapter would be the final part of the X-Factor era in this fic.  
> I definitely didn't compensate for all the SHIT that goes down at this point in time, so I'm purely blaming myself for that. If I hadn't split this supposed-to-be-final chapter in half, it would've been close to 40k words long or some shit, so I thought I'd spare all of you with short attention spans (myself included) from a torture session.  
> ANYWAY, ENJOY THE SECOND-LAST PART OF THE X-FACTOR ERA IN THIS FIC!! I PROMISE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THE LAST. I ACTUALLY PROMISE THIS TIME.

_(13 th of November)_

_One Direction_ said goodbye to Aidan Grimshaw that night.

It had to have happened at some point in the competition, either of them being sent home, but that didn’t mean that Louis was any sort of alright as it was announced to the nation that Aidan was going home.

Harry was crying beside Louis, clinging to the older boy’s jumper like his knees were about to give out. Zayn was already in Aidan’s arms the moment the guy stumbled off stage, looking distraught with watery eyes and shaky hands. Matt was quick to pile on to their embrace, tear-eyed but forcing himself to smile reassuringly, followed quickly by Bex and Katie and Geneva, the six people all tangled together crying and whispering fierce goodbyes. Liam and Niall hung back, having not really been as close with Aidan, but they still wrapped him in a soft embrace when he broke away from the larger group to say his final farewells.

Louis was rubbing fiercely at his eyes when Aidan finally made his way over to the Doncaster boy and Harry after making his way through the other contestants, because - -

Because of _course_ Aidan saved them for last, of fucking course he did.

Harry didn’t bother trying to stop himself from crying, constantly sniffling and biting back loud sobs as he curled himself into Aidan’s strong arms, trembling almost as hard as their eliminated friend. Louis managed to refrain from joining them for around half a second before he launched on to the pile, his cheek clashing with Aidan’s chin, but they only snorted wetly before clutching each other close.

Aidan pulled back quite suddenly, eyes fierce and insistent as he gripped Harry’s shoulder and Louis’ forearm.

“Don’t you two _dare_ let go of each other after I’m gone,” he warned them, looking them both in the eye one after the other. “I swear to god, I’ll end both of your lives. This, what you guys have, is something _anybody_ would fucking _kill_ for, it’s that special.” He broke off into a sharp inhale, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks and Harry collapsed into Louis’ side, crying quietly.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, and Louis couldn’t help but turn to press a soft kiss to Harry’s unruly and slightly damp curls.

“Don’t forget me,” Aidan whispered. “Please.”

Louis shook his head, holding Harry close as he turned to look Aidan dead in the eye. “Never.”

|||

_(15 th of November)_

The next morning was scarily quiet, like nobody could really process that Aidan was officially gone. He’d been something of an icon within the ‘inner circle’ of contestants, an endless beam of hilarity and stupidity and a talent for making anybody feel better when they didn’t think they possibly could. Katie appeared to be on the verge of tears throughout the entirety of breakfast, even though it wasn’t really her fault and the outcome couldn’t have been changed by anybody.

Matt had been pretty torn up about it too, keeping to himself and silently accepting the little gestures of comfort the other contestants offered, like meaningful forehead kisses and passing him extra food on their plates when they didn’t know what else they could do.

Harry fell into the second category, Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn into the first.

When some of the regular PAs came up into the _House_ to collect them and bring them down to film their weekly video diary, Louis honestly couldn’t be arsed to pretend he had any interest in it, even if it meant he was acting like an asshole for the entirety of it. Instead, he snatched one of Zayn’s books from their bunk room on the way down and mumbled lines from it in place of answering any questions directed his way.

“On Sunday we got through, which is amazing, but, uhm, one of our close friends, Aidan, was sent home,” Harry told the camera in a dull tone, painfully aware of the sharp intake of oxygen and slightly fragmented line from Louis as he continued to act nonchalant.

“We were all, erm, pretty shocked when Aidan was in the bottom two,” he went on, watching Louis in his peripherals with a slight frown on his face. Louis had his face completely buried in the book, refusing to look at any of the cameras or crew members or his bandmates as he shouted, “ _’No! Jimmy protested,”_ from the top line of the new page he’d flicked to.

There were a few moments of awkward, weighted silence following the outbursts of laughter from Louis’ bandmates before Liam – bless him, seriously – broke it by saying he’d like to be a birthday cake, and Harry found himself snorting and turning to mock his friend without relent.

\--

“Louis,” Marlene Wilkinson said shortly as the boys went to make their way back up to the _House,_ and Louis paused where he was standing, still on the staircase.

“Marlene,” he returned shortly, shaking his head at his bandmates, who were watching him with worried eyes as he stepped down the last three steps as one step and walked stiffly over to the woman standing behind the camera line. She had her phone in one hand and a pen tucked behind her ear – an awfully innocent look for a lady that had probably done more personal damage to an array of people throughout her few years of work than Louis had done in his entire lifetime.

He heard the distant sound of his bandmates moving back up the stairs, a little protest of _Lou_ coming from Harry before the voice trailed off, somebody – probably Niall – making him leave, too, like he’d silently been forced to by the steely, adamant look in Wilkinson’s eyes.

Once the camera and production crews had packed up and moved away and Louis was sufficiently uncomfortable in her presence, Wilkinson spoke. “What on Earth was that performance?” She demanded stiffly, phone out and unlocked in her other hand, ready to type out a text to her boss – that Anne-Marie woman who Louis had the absolute worst gut-feeling about.

“I’m not sayin’ anythin’ while you have that phone out,” he told her, tone unwavering as he waited patiently for her to store it away. “Report to your bosses later. It’s rude not to give somebody your full attention during a conversation. Did you mother never teach you that?”

The woman seared him with a harsh gaze, but ultimately put her phone away and raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

He answered.

“Am I suddenly not allowed to be un-okay over the fact one of my closest friends was sent home yesterday?” He questioned, folding his arms over his chest and despising the fact he was too short to look at Wilkinson at a regular height and instead had to look up at her. “Am I expected to be entirely emotionless now? Is it because the tabloids are theorising I’m fucking half the guys on this show just to start some drama when they don’t even have confirmation that I _like_ guys?”

Wilkinson held up a palm in front of his face, lips in a thin line – clearly uncomfortable. Louis must’ve struck a nerve with bringing up anything to do with homosexuality. He didn’t even feel bad about it, couldn’t have.

“Enough, Mr Tomlinson.” She pursed her lips as he fell into silence, willing himself not to tremble under her harsh and unforgiving features. He had the feeling she could see him trying to do that, but he didn’t really care much as long as he didn’t show any cracks in his armour.

Wilkinson inhaled deeply before exhaling, letting her palm fall. “I understand this situation may seem unprecedented to you and your bandmates,” she started, not sounding understanding at all. “But it is necessary in preserving your success, and by extension, preserving _our_ success as a company and a show. No, the tabloids are not claiming that you are sleeping with any male contestant besides Mr Styles - - “ _Oh,_ how Louis wanted to rip her to _shreds_ over the way she spat out Harry’s last name like a curse, “ - - nor are most of them even speculating on your sexuality. You may be fairly controversial, but you do _not_ dominate the media just yet, Louis.”

Louis gulped a little nervously as the woman continued, inspecting her awfully-sparkly red nails. “ _That_ is why we must be careful in how you present yourself to the media, so you continue to attain an unbothered and unproblematic persona. We’re not doing this to be cruel – we’re doing it to help you, even if it does not seem like that. So, I’d kindly advise you to get yourself together and not act in _any_ manner that could insinuate that you and Aidan were more than friends. You’re lucky we’re not making you re-record that video diary right this moment.”

She broke off, sniffed, pulled out her phone before waving her palm at Louis. “Off you go.”

|||

_(16 th of November)_

The marks on Harry’s neck still hadn’t faded, even after a week since he, Louis and Aidan had stumbled back to the _House_ borderline-blackout drunk and collapsed into bed without any words to anybody else.

It was starting to concern him, alongside everybody else. 

“Those really shouldn’t still be there,” Zayn commented on the sixth day afterwards, dabbing makeup over the slowly fading bruises in order to obscure them from the view of the cameras, effectively preventing any rumours from skyrocketing on the internet (as long as, you know, the makeup didn’t rub off too much for it to be visible before somebody redid it, that somebody usually being Charlie from the styling and makeup department or Zayn and Bex).

“I know,” Harry hummed, pulling his curls out of Zayn’s face so the older boy could have a clearer view of the pale stretches of Harry skin. “Must’ve been done roughly.”

Zayn snorted, and Harry could picture his friend rolling his eyes amusedly. “I’m shocked you don’t remember who gave you these,” the Bradford boy admitted, obviously grinning. “Like, seriously, they look like they hurt when they were given. Kinda hard to forget that stuff, normally.”

Harry made an affronted noise and batted at Zayn’s shoulder with a half-hearted frown on his face. “I was completely shit-faced, according to Aidan. I think I have a valid excuse.”

A few moments of silence before Zayn agreed with a small _true,_ returning to his work. Harry could feel that his friend wanted to add something else, so he waited patiently until Zayn paused again and inhaled dramatically before he began talking.

“Just… Be careful, Haz,” his friend told him in a quiet voice, sounding unsure of himself – something unusual and alarming, especially since it was _Zayn._ Zayn was more often than not just Louis’ second half personality-wise, and it was pretty weird seeing him dance around his words like they were vital to his survival.

He inhaled again before continuing. “I know it like, doesn’t really happen to guys, and you guys had Aidan keepin’ an eye on you, but getting as drunk as you and Louis were a few nights ago never ends well for the intoxicated person. I don’t like the idea of either of you being completely helpless ‘n out of it ‘cause of the alcohol while somebody tries to take advantage of you. It’s like, scary to think about.”

_Oh._

Christ.

Harry knew deep down that what Zayn was talking about wasn’t the case with the lovebites on his neck, if the barely-there flickering memories in his head were _actually_ memories (which he somehow knew they were), but it easily _could’ve been,_ and Zayn was right in saying it was a scary thought.

“’M sorry for worryin’ you,” Harry mumbled, leaning into Zayn’s side a little, careful to avoid smudging or smearing the makeup on Zayn’s shirt. “Like, I know for sure that it wasn’t the case this time and I like, said yes ‘n stuff - - ” he flushed pink momentarily, squirming in embarrassment over talking about it _(“This okay?” A nod. “Oh_ fuck _.”)_.

Zayn chuckled softly before letting him continue. “ - - but it could’ve been different. ‘m sorry.”

His friend sighed, tugging him closer without another word.

|||

_(18 th of November)_

**POORLY WRITTEN EXPLICIT/ NSFW CONTENT ON THIS DAY**

Harry was really starting to hate the lack of privacy the _House_ offered to its contestants.

He could rarely get more than five minutes alone before somebody was pouncing on him – most likely Niall or Louis – or dragging him to someplace else or forcing him into some stupid video for the show just to keep it alive and make sure they didn’t lose too many viewers during their inactive periods.

He was never usually one to complain over that, to be completely honest. He’d never really processed that there was such a distinct missing element of privacy in their living arrangement, considering he hadn’t really thought of it as an important factor of his life, which - -

Which, okay, it was becoming a rather prominent issue.

See, the only time Harry ever got to himself just to relieve some of the pressure was his shower each morning, or each night if necessary. It was the only time nobody ever barged into his headspace, interrupting him when he was _just_ getting into it because there was an actual lock on the door that _worked_ that barricaded him in from the outside world. He figured the other boys did the same – it would make sense, really. No judgement at all towards any of them for it, because let’s be honest, they all understood the irritation at only having five-to-ten minutes every day to like, _actually_ wank.

And Harry was going _insane,_ because he hadn’t even had to the chance to do that since he’d come home from the club with Louis and Aidan over a week ago. He didn’t necessarily know _why_ he hadn’t had the chance, he just knew that he _hadn’t –_ he’d either been yelled at to get out of the shower faster than he needed or just hadn’t been able to shower at a time where people wouldn’t barge into the bathroom, brushing their teeth or fixing their hair last minute (because sure, Harry had a bit of a public thing, but it wasn’t in the way that he wanted anybody to actually _see_ him getting off, because like… No).

He was bordering on having an entire breakdown over it, because the pressure was getting _worse_ the longer he went without relief.

“Harry! Get outta the shower, we’ve got somethin’ on,” Niall yelled through the locked bathroom door that morning, and Harry wanted to _die._ “Dunno what, but one of the crew shits came up ‘ere and told us!”

Honestly, fuck the show. “Coming!” He shouted back, voice cracking in the middle of the word because how he fucking _wished_ he were _physically_ coming, _Jesus._

He wrenched his hand off his unbelievably _hard_ dick with a barely muffled whine and sob, biting his knuckles to suppress the noises as the shower water continued to pound down on his sensitive skin and the almost-entirely faded bruises on his throat, starting to run awfully cold. He was the last one of the boys to shower for the morning, having woken up after everyone else and Louis being too kind to wake him up when the older boy himself had first awakened, so he figured he should’ve at least had a little extra time, but _no._ Of fucking _course_ not.

After flicking off the shower and towelling off his body, dick eventually going soft enough so that it didn’t look like he was dying from sexual frustration, he made his way out of the bathroom and towards his old bunk, which had quickly become a storage unit for all the boys’ clothes.

He hadn’t bothered to sling the towel around his hips to cover himself up, and Niall groaned audibly from his bed across the room, followed quickly by teasing laughter from Zayn, who was next to the bleached blonde.

“Seriously, Haz,” Niall whined playfully, throwing a stray shoe at Harry’s head as the curly boy knelt on the rough carpet so he could properly fish through the clothes piles to find something he wanted to wear. “Why do ya always gotta have your dick out? Bit too early for that, innit?”

Harry snorted, trying to ignore the storm of pent-up frustration writhing throughout his body. “Never too early to give you an eyeful, Ni. You know you love it.” He popped his arse out for extra effect and Niall choked on a snort.

“I bet he’d be down for a mouthful of it, too,” Zayn chimed in conversationally, and Harry spluttered as he heard Niall _really_ crack up with that classic _hahahahaha_ laughter that was undeniably adorable.

“As if I’d ever let him give me a blowjob,” Harry told them both matter-of-factly, finally collecting enough clothes for the day – a soft grey hoodie with some black skinny jeans and white vans that looked like something Louis would wear instead of the curly boy. He stood up and threw the clothes on to his and Louis’ shared bunk so he could grab them when necessary. “He’d be absolutely awful, I can see it.”

“I would _not_ be awful!” Niall shrieked in protest, and this time Harry was wise enough to duck his head and avoid the next shoe thrown his way. “I think I’d have quite a way with dick, really, and - - Hazza, are you going commando?”

Harry flushed bright pink all the way to the tips of his ears as he finished drawing the jeans up his legs and over his thighs, pulling lightly at the zipper and almost whimpering at the friction of the jeans on his crotch. It was probably a bad idea to be going commando, sure, but Harry did it most days so he supposed there wouldn’t be too many dramas because of it. “I somehow doubt you’d even know how to use your tongue proper,” Harry argued back and Zayn guffawed from where he was, Harry not having to turn around to look at his friends to know because of how loud and genuine it was. “And yes, I’m goin’ commando. Got a problem? I do it so often you’d think you’re used to it by now.”

He turned around as he pulled the hoodie over his head, spraying his rose and chocolate scented deodorant on as he watched Niall shake his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you find going commando _comfortable,”_ the blonde stated, looking Harry up and down with a confused frown on his face. “Like, does the zipper, like, not, I dunno… _Rub_ against your dick, or summat?”

“Maybe he likes it,” Zayn suggested, and Harry took a note from Niall’s book and pegged one of his shoes at the Bradford boy’s head without relent.

“To answer your question, it doesn’t rub painfully unless you’re hard, which like, I _don’t_ get hard while commando, thank you very much, _Zayn,”_ he rambled, flustered, and Niall tipped his head back and laughed teasingly with no real menace behind it. Zayn was smirking playfully at Harry with one eyebrow raised, almost looking incredulous.

Harry threw his hands up in the air with a huffed sigh, all too eager to entirely redirect the conversation away from himself. “Okay, _fine,_ maybe sometimes I get hard commando, but Louis and I have seen Zayn in lace so I feel like it’s pretty irrelevant.”

Niall’s eyes widened as he fell back on his bed, legs kicking out spastically as he laughed and choked out, “W-when did you s-see Zayn in _lace?”_ He coughed out, unable to catch his breath for even a moment.

Harry laughed with the blonde, reaching over to smother a hand through his friend’s mop of hair as Zayn grinned where he was sitting. He felt a little more relaxed now, less like he was about to explode and more like he was just letting the ocean currents carry him along peacefully.

“Oh, a while ago,” Harry said, smiling cheekily. “We went out shopping, I think, I dunno, two weeks ago? Got ‘em then from that weird sex store that had the absolute _worst_ marketing team. They actually have some nice stuff there. Bex helped us choose out some pairs.”

“Did _you_ get any?” Niall choked out, face flushed a violent and alarming red from how hard he was laughing and how his lungs couldn’t get enough air in them. Harry shook his head, feeling almost a little disappointed. “No,” he started truthfully, fighting back a little childish pout. “Wanted some, though. Found some comfy-lookin’ white ones that I wanted to grab, but the shop closed early so I couldn’t get ‘em.”

“Oh, we’re discussing the lace phenomenon, are we? Should’ve gotten Nialler here some, too.” A cheeky voice said from the doorway and Harry almost made an embarrassing noise of delight as Louis and Liam came up beside him, the former wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist without so much as the blink of an eye to suggest that it was anything but instinctual.

Harry could’ve purred, but he forced himself not to because _no,_ it would be incredibly weird for him to make a noise that only cats were supposed to make.

“Lace phenomenon?” Liam asked confusedly, sounding borderline _offended,_ and Harry was genuinely worried that Niall was going to die with how hard the blonde was laughing again. “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“I’m wearing some now if you wanna see,” Zayn said, nonchalant and grinning as he unzipped the fly of his jeans and smacked Niall over the head with his free hand. Liam moved in, curious, as Zayn pulled down the waistband of his trousers just enough to reveal the lacy red panties Louis had chosen those weeks ago and thrown into the shopping basket without a second glance. Harry leaned in close to look at them properly.

“These ones are better than the navy pair you choose for y’self,” he concluded with a grin, running a thumb over the lace waistband of the panties and hearing Louis make a noise of agreement. “Bex must have good taste, considering she picked these.”

The eldest of the band slung himself down next to Zayn, pulling back the waistband before letting them go and hearing the _smack_ as they rebounded back into Zayn’s skin.

“Nice,” Louis said with a flirtatious wink that had Harry biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he could taste blood and fighting mentally with his dick that had twitched with interest in his jeans.

Zayn snorted as if he could read Harry’s mind, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “I know!” He agreed excitedly, ignoring Niall’s explosive laughter next to him and choosing not to address the way Harry had fallen silent and Liam’s eyes were so wide he looked like he’d been doing cocaine for the past hour. “They’re much better quality, too. They don’t like, dig into my hips like the navy ones do. You lot should get a pair each.”

Niall had stopped laughing at this point, properly looking over the lace curiously as Liam drew back, blushing and his eyes flicked between each of his bandmates a few times over.

“They do actually look quite nice,” Niall eventually said, pulling back with a wicked grin on his face. “’m just surprised s’Zayn wearin’ it. Woulda thought Harold would be, to be honest.”

Harry shrugged, miraculously finding his voice again and ignoring the way there was still a faint hint of the original arousal he’d felt at Louis’ wink before. “Fair enough, Ni. Fair enough.”

\--

The day had seemed to drag out for longer than actually possible, even after the whole Zayn-in-lace-underwear situation before _and_ the dumb Question Time video the contestants had been forced to film a few hours ago that all of them hated, even if they never said it aloud. It felt like it’d been going for twenty-eight hours instead of twenty-four, and it was only nine p.m.

Not good enough for Harry, especially not when he was so twitchy and hypersensitive that people were starting to worry about it. He just - - he just needed a moment, alright? And he wasn’t _getting_ that moment, not as Niall dragged him back into the living room after he’d tried to make a break for the staircase leading up to the bunk room, claiming _movie night is much more important that wha’ever you were gonna do, Hazza, believe me._

So, there Harry was, squished between the arm of the couch and Katie, Niall star-fished out on the floor at his feet as they started playing _Die Hard._

“Why couldn’t we watch _Grease_ instead?” Louis complained as he entered the room, slinging himself into Harry’s lap with a faux-irritated sigh. “ _Die Hard_ sucks in comparison.”

Harry tried not to whimper as how Louis was shifting in his lap to try and get comfortable, not even concentrating enough to contradict Louis’ statement about the films, even if he distinctly disagreed, only vaguely hearing Niall get out a laughed _shut up, Lou._

Katie was watching Harry with a concerned frown, almost like she was silently asking _are you okay?_ to which Harry just shook his head and clenched his jaw, sighing in relief as Louis finally stopped moving in his lap and he could wrap his arms around the older of the two without worry of getting hard and having to shove Louis forcefully off him to avoid possibly the most awkward occurrence of all time.

 _Christ,_ if he got hard while Louis was in his lap, he was fucking _screwed - -_

And then the movie was starting and Louis shifted in Harry’s lap again _just_ right, and Harry had to bite down on his lip so hard that he tasted blood to suppress the little whine that threatened to escape. He clenched his hands into fists, dropping them down by his sides and fighting a mental war with his dick – which had perked up a little in interest, mind you – while Louis got comfortable again, muttering curses under his breath as he twinged a muscle or two before he _finally_ got comfy, side pressed to Harry’s side and arms around his neck.

“You good, Haz?” Louis murmured quietly as the movie officially started up on the screen, and Harry froze momentarily, afraid Louis was asking because he could feel Harry’s slight boner before he realised that Louis was just genuinely asking if he was okay and comfortable.

He let himself relax, arms going back around Louis’ body as he sighed out a small _yeah,_ focus turning back on to the television as he clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times to try and centre himself. He felt Louis frown into the skin of his throat, setting goosebumps aflame across the pale surface and sending a shiver down Harry’s spine, but the older boy didn’t press as he turned his attention to the film, not moving besides his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to move as minimally as possible for the rest of the film.

\--

“You okay, Haz?” Katie murmured into Harry’s ear after Louis had departed from his lap, movie officially finished and Louis off to help Zayn prank Bex, and the curly-haired boy had curled in on himself, effectively hiding his stupidly _hard_ dick from view of anybody else.

He’d tried, he really had, to fight off the imminent arousal he’d been feeling for the past week. He hadn’t tried hard _enough_ though, and he’d just been lucky enough that Louis had sprang out of his lap just before his dick had properly thickened in his sweatpants, and so the older boy hadn’t noticed.

“Mhm,” he got out through gritted teeth, hiding his flushed face behind his knees, humiliated beyond belief. He must’ve looked like a right mess, but he couldn’t exactly move, just in case somebody walked back into the room and spied him trying to inconspicuously hide his erection. Niall would never let him hear the end of it if the blonde found out, that was for sure. Harry loved Niall heaps – they were best friends for fuck’s sake, more like brothers – but the Irish lad needed a little lesson in learning what was appropriate to bring up in a teasing situation and what wasn’t.

“Hey,” Katie said firmly, planting a gentle hand on Harry’s knee and pushing it down, forcing him to show her his face without revealing the true source of his red-flushed cheeks and bitten raw lips. “S’okay, y’know, if you’re not. I get it. I grew up with boys, to be honest. Had more guy friends than girls back home.”

She broke off, offering him a reassuring smile and patting his knee gently. “If you like, need a minute, you can go to my old room and like, I dunno, go into my bathroom there. It isn’t connected to anybody else because I took _Diva Fever’s_ old room and totally refurbished it but kept the old room just in case. I’m assumin’ you like, don’t get any time back up in your own bunks, so. Yeah.” She broke off, finished, scratching the back of her neck and dropping her head a fraction. 

Harry didn’t know whether Katie was a blessing or a curse, really, because he was being _offered_ the opportunity to actually get off _properly,_ to actually work himself over, but the very _prospect_ of that was making him so light-headed he felt like he was going to pass out or his dick was going to fall off. And - - and the entire _situation_ was like something out of a bad romance novel, like, who lets their friend get off in their old bathroom just _because_?

Maybe it was because of how close most of the _House_ had become over the time of the competition. They were basically all siblings at this point; Harry swore up and down he’d seen more naked people in the place as he’d seen in his entire life back at home – guys, girls, whoever. It didn’t really matter, considering he was one of those people, but like. Point made, you know?

It wasn’t like he was complaining, though. “Thanks, Katie,” he mumbled, flushed crimson with embarrassment as he squirmed in his seat. “Are you, like, _sure?_ I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable by doin’ this, or anythin’.”

Katie nodded again, calm and steady, completely unaffected. Harry loved her, while also simultaneously wondering if she was _actually_ okay with offering up her old space to him.

Harry made himself wait for a little bit over a minute, refusing to come off as desperate as he was actually feeling, steeling his need so he didn’t look like an actual twelve-year-old about to experience their first orgasm.

After that minute or so passed, he scrambled to his feet, and Harry made his way towards the exit before quickly changing directions and hurriedly taking the corridor down to Katie’s old room, managing to shield himself from the view of any straggling contestants lazing about after the movie.

Stumbling into his friend’s old room, closing and locking the door main and then escaping into her old bathroom probably should’ve been a little weirder, but Harry couldn’t even attempt to think of that as he closed the door as quietly as possible, flicked the lock and collapsed against it, already unzipping his jeans and tugging them down before getting a hand around his straining dick with a desperate whimper.

He was trembling already after the first stroke, letting out an extremely unattractive noise as his back arched off the door, dick sensitive and hot and _pulsing_ in time with his heartbeat. He whined, trying to catch his breath without gasping far too loud, willing himself to _slow down, take his time,_ just a bit, to _enjoy it._

Which, okay, was a difficult enough goal given that he hadn’t gotten off in a little bit over a week. He was _sixteen_ for fuck’s sake, what could you expect?

His balls were aching and tight and _full_ in a way that made him squirm and gasp erratically as he let his body drop back down against the door with a slightly muffled _thump._ His mind was uselessly stuck on what he could only describe as an indefinitely moving wheel, just repeating the same words of _fuck, please, come_ over and over again until he realised he was saying _fuck_ and _please_ aloud and used his free hand to clamp over his mouth to quiet down the embarrassing noises he was letting out.

Harry slid down the door with a whine until he was seated, knees pulled up and spread as he tugged at his dick firmly, fist warm and tight, unable to wait a second longer, unable to draw it out because of the pure _need_ coursing through his veins in that moment. His abdomen and balls were _throbbing_ at just the minute or so of stimulation and he opened and closed his legs repeatedly, whimpering into his hand at the differentiating sensations brought out by the varying angles.

He moaned into his hand, like, _fully_ moaned, and squirmed in embarrassment again as he gasped out a soft yet unrestrained, “ _Please,”_ to the open air of the bathroom, followed quickly by a whimpered sentence of, _“Oh,_ please, please, _fuckfuckfuck.”_

He had no clue why he was begging, or _who_ he was begging for that matter, but he couldn’t really find it without himself to care as he flicked his wrist _just_ right on a downstroke, letting out a high-pitched whine that startled him into repeating the movement before swiping his thumb over the leaking tip of his dick, making his entire body thrum with pleasure as he moaned unabashedly into his hand again, hips twitching subconsciously into the touch.

He - - he was kind of losing his mind, alright, so he figured nobody could really blame him when he began to let his mind wander to the incomprehensible number of dirty fantasies he’d come up with over the years. The flame in his lower stomach was starting to pick in in force and he seriously could’ve begun crying as the pleasure swept through him in intense waves, letting his eyes drift close as he slipped away into his head.

Him spread out on a bed, a nameless figure between his spread legs, slowly taking his dick down inch by inch while they reached up and flicked one of his nipples harshly. He whined into his hand again, slamming his head back against the door without any sort of care for the noise and his hips fucking up into his fist again, orgasm simmering in his veins as he panted _so close so close so fucking close._

He moaned out a name, something completely unintelligible, all slurred and rough as he let his hand drift from his mouth down between his spread knees and fondle his sore, _sore_ balls, drawing out another moan – closer to a _mewl_ with how high-pitched it was. His hand on his dick had sped up so fast he could hear the obscenely wet sound of the movement, and he blinked a few tears out of his eyes and threw his head back again in total bliss. His legs were honestly _shaking_ as he squeezed his balls one more time – his dick blurting out an alarming amount of precome in response and making him _sob,_ no hand there to muffle the noise – as his hips twitched again, hand finally, _finally_ drifting down past his balls, and - -

Suddenly, his brain thrust him back into his fantasy, back on to that bed, a pretty boy with tanned skin and fluffy hair between his legs instead of some nameless person, the boy making soft noises in his throat as he took Harry back down in his mouth, fingers a little tentative and careful as he shifted them to press up against Harry’s balls again for a moment, taking himself off the curly-headed boy’s dick so he could watch his reactions, piercing blue eyes scanning the younger boy’s flushed face with a gentle, reassuring smile, and - -

 _“Louis,”_ he moaned, all low and drawn out as his fingers brushed again the skin of his hole, burning and clenching and soft in a way that he’d never get used to, not since the first day he’d touched himself there as an embarrassingly horny teenager and been completely overwhelming at how _soft_ and _nice_ it had felt – _still_ felt, every time he found even a moment to do it.

He froze where he was, fingers still stroking over his hole, pressing down firm enough to make him moan once more, trembling where he was still totally shoved up against the door of the old bathroom.

He - - he’d just, like, _moaned_ his _best friend’s name_ like it was nothing – like it was _nothing_ to him.

It, like, it made _sense,_ though, because of _course_ he wanted Louis with him in that moment, pinning him up against a fucking _door_ while he tortured Harry with his clever hands and fingers and _lips –_ of fucking _course._

It didn’t make it any less mortifying, in complete honesty, but Harry was so far gone into the depths of his head that he supposed he’d forget about it sometime later, and hell, it wouldn’t even matter as long as Louis himself never discovered his thoughts – never as in _absolutely never in their lifetime._

Not being able to bear delaying it for much longer, he just _curved_ his fingers upwards (which kept his wrist nudging against his balls, a heady and addictive pressure), before sinking the very tip of his index finger _in_ after the first give of his hole. It burned – _fuck,_ it _burned_ so _badly_ without the usual assistance of lube (which he was sadly out of, by the way) _,_ but holy _fuck - -_ it felt so fucking _good_ he couldn’t help but moan excessively loud, thrusting his arse back to try and increase the pressure.

His finger wasn’t _quite_ inside, but it was _plenty_ for what he needed right then – borderline _too_ much, but in an incredible manner.

“ _Oh,”_ he sobbed out quietly, biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he drew blood, muffling his noises just enough so that he wouldn’t give himself away. He rocked his hips up into his hand still on his dick before grinding his arse back on his finger, seeing if he could get some sort of desperate type of friction or movement in without shifting his hand out of where he had himself pressed at all the right places.

His wrist was knocking his balls whenever he ground his arse back and making him cry out through gritted teeth each time, overwhelming yet _perfect_. “Oh, Lou,” he cried in a whispered voice, having stopped biting his lip to conceal the noises. _“Please,_ please please _please,_ s’good, s’good, _please.”_ He moved his hand from the base of his dick to thumb at his slit and he jack-knifed up on reflex, groaning lowly instead of his usually high-pitched sounds.

The dig of his thumb in his slit and the tease of his fingers in his hole, the grind of hips, was all he really needed, honestly, tears of overwhelm trailing down his cheeks. Ther were _days_ of sexual energy and _come_ ready to be let go, and to be let go _hard,_ and he was _ready_ for it, already anticipating how _good_ it would feel, how incredible the feeling of relief would be _._

 _“_ Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come,” he whined, all whiny and sounding almost _panicked._ “’m gonna _come_ , Lou, I’m gonna _fucking_ come, Lou, I’m coming, coming, gonna come, _ah,_ ” he kept on saying, overwhelmed and _fucked_ out of his mind without even having been _actually_ fucked.

It would be embarrassing except for the way Harry was completely _gone,_ blissed out before he’d even come, all pliant and soft and begging for release as he bucked up twice, grinding back on his finger one more time, the heat in his pelvis so fucking _hot_ and his balls _throbbing_ desperately, before - -

Harry let go.

A sound which should’ve been incredibly unattractive – somewhere between a mewl and a groan – escaped his lips as he thrust backwards on his finger once more, tears rolling down his cheeks relentlessly. He imagined he could hear Louis moaning with him, gentle and soft and _beautiful,_ just like how the boy always was with Harry, no matter the situation. It just made Harry come _harder,_ balls pulsing with every wad of come that shot from his dick, prompting him to cry out breathlessly, a noise barely more than a quiet moan.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered at the tail end of his _spectacular_ orgasm, when his vocal-chords had reeled back under his control. His hole was clenching around his finger sporadically and he whined at the empty feeling as he withdrew it, pouting at the loss like a little child deprived of ice-cream. His muscles were _aching,_ but it was an addictive and _nice_ ache, the release and _relief_ unbelievable perfect. The heavy tingle in his pelvis _zinged_ up his spine like a drug, his body shivering from the heat of _pure relief_ after so long of being forced to hold it off.

Maybe Katie was a blessing in disguise, because as Harry returned to the living space after cleaning up, all flushed and pupils dilated, he couldn’t have been more relaxed and happy if he’d tried.

|||

_(20 th of November)_

A little under a week after the mess of a video diary following Aidan’s departure and a day or two since the hickeys on Harry’s neck had faded, Harry and Louis made their way down to the dressing rooms with Cher early to get a break from the rather depressing scene of the _House._ Nothing had really improved from the night Aidan had been sent home regarding the atmosphere engulfing the contestants, since Katie still felt immensely guilty and Matt wouldn’t stop moping for a second, which was pretty justified, considering.

Louis had honestly felt like he’d been suffocating between Zayn on his phone at one end of the sofa and Bex watery-eyed and texting Aidan at the other end, so he’d leapt to his feet, announced his departure, yanked Harry out of the kitchen and ran the both of them to catch up with Cher before she left for the makeup department.

Harry had been acting weird for a little while, since the contestants had gathered to watch _Die Hard_ and Louis had sat on his lap, and hadn’t actually _told_ Louis what was up, so Louis figured maybe a break from the _House_ would be beneficial for the both of them.

The two bandmates messed around with Cher for a bit, earning a half-heartedly scolding from Charlie and a sarcastic threat that one of them would end up with hairspray down their throats if they didn’t give the stylists some space to tame Cher’s voluminous hair.

“Want your nails done while you’re here, Harry, darlin’?” Charlie asked in a light tone, smiling welcomingly as he drew an intense looking hairbrush through one of the collection of knots he’d discovered in Cher’s hair. “I could get one of Kaya’s girlies to do it for you instead of me, if you’d like. They’d love to. Not so often we get guys on this show interested in the finer parts of our department.”

Harry coughed into his knuckle where he was standing near the door leading to the assigned _One Direction_ dressing room, using his other hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck; his cheeks were all flushed a pretty pink colour. “Uhm, no thanks, Charlie. I think I’ll pass this week. Already got a lecture from Uncle Si over the clear stuff I had last time.”

Louis, who had been star-fished out on the sofa nearest to Cher’s makeup station, sat up with a splutter. “Since when were you wearing clear nail polish?” He demanded, glaring at his friend accusingly. “And since _when_ did Simon get you in trouble for it?”

The younger of the two opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously debating a response, before Charlie stepped in while wrangling another spray of knots in Cher’s hair (she was pliant in her seat, looking half-asleep, which Louis was honestly pretty grateful for).

“Harry came down a while ago with Bex to look at nail stuff,” the stylist said, body relaxed and fingers nimble as he wielded the hairbrush. “He asked to try some clear polish just for starters, ‘cause he hasn’t had proper polish on for years, so we did that. Got a call from Simon a few days later to say our behaviour in the makeup and styling department is _‘undesirable and inappropriate for such a wide-spread show’.”_

The last bit of Charlie’s explanation was spat out like a direct quote, and Louis so dearly wanted to bash someone’s brains in before the stylist continued on.

“I think what he said is utter bullshit,” Charlie told them, deadpan as he changed over from a regular hairbrush to a detangling-comb. “S’why I offered again today. He’s never cared so much about nail-polish on the rare male contestant before now, so I was pretty surprised he grilled you for it. Maybe it’s because of how he wants you guys to seem in the media.” The stylist broke off into a dry, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. Louis felt a little pained at how mature Charlie truly was when he barely looked a day over sixteen.

 _No sixteen-year-old should have to burden stuff like that,_ Louis thought, adamant. _Nobody should be told that what they want to do is wrong._

“Doesn’t matter if I take the fall, to be honest,” Charlie tacked on, almost appearing to be burned out. “Don’t really like this job anyway, but I like Kaya well enough that I said yes.”

Louis turned to Harry, wide-eyed and feeling a little like he’d been thrown into a bonfire with no warning. “What did Simon say to you because of it?”

Harry shrugged, scratching the back of his head again as he averted his eyes. “Just said that it was inappropriate of me to engage in stuff like it,” he said, sounding bitter. “Said it wasn’t good for my image and he had the power to remove me from the show if necessary. Kind of excessive, in my opinion. He could’ve just asked for me to take it off instead of threatening my entire chance at this famous thing.”

_What the fuck?_

He verbalised it. “What the _fuck?”_

Charlie snorted dryly where he was standing, startling Cher into jerking somewhat awake in her seat before grumbling and relaxing once more.

“Exactly how I reacted when Si called,” Charlie told him, and Louis fell back on the sofa, a hand over his eyes as he swore loudly again.

“That’s disgusting,” he spat matter-of-factly, not even really paying attention to the nods of agreement from both Charlie and Harry, Cher having totally zoned out again. “Nobody should _ever_ be told that what they’re wearing or how they express themselves is _inappropriate_ or _wrong._ He has _no fucking right_ to say that to anybody, ‘specially not you, Hazza. You too, Charlie. Christ, he invalidated both of you!”

“Not like he hasn’t done the same to you,” Harry pointed out sadly, expression falling into something infinitely more depressing and making Louis want to bundle him up into the older boy’s arms and hide him away from the cruel, cruel world they were living in. “Just over a different thing.”

 _Abort._ “Doesn’t matter,” Louis said with a dismissive wave of his hand, still laying against the back of the sofa. “What he talked to me about might be a similar situation, but it’s also not. What he grilled me for isn’t like, a choice, yeah? Whether is what he grilled _you_ about is a choice that you’ve made in order to express yourself, and it’s completely fucked up either way for him to be a little shit about it but it’s extra fucked up when it’s over a choice you’ve made that makes yourself feel better.”

Harry hummed, but he still looked heartbreakingly sad as he refused to look at anything save for the freshly cleaned floor of the main makeup and styling area. “S’just sad.”

Louis nodded numbly, not really sure how else to describe it, because it _was_ just _sad._ Sad how they were so controlled they couldn’t even have little pieces of themselves because of the media complications.

There was a loud clap from where Charlie was, and the stylist had a warm smile on his face – a dramatic difference from how venomous he’d appeared before.

“Enough depressing shit,” he said decidedly, not leaving any room for argument as he reached for de-tangling cream to lace through Cher’s hair (the girl was completely out of it in her chair, going as far to snore a little, something that would usually have been incredibly endearing). “Since you two are moping down here instead of upstairs, I’m gonna use it to my advantage. Haz, mind if you grab those blazers on the rack nearest to the eyeliner selection?”

He waited for Harry to nod and move on his way before turning to Louis with something like contemplation in his eyes. “And for you, Louis, could you please get me Kaya’s foundation kit from the desk in the corner? It has a bright pink and purple label on it. Kinda hard to miss. Just bring the whole thing. I have to find a new tone for Cher because the old one made her look plasticky.”

Louis snorted, shooting a thumbs up before clambering over the piles of clothes on the floor to reach the desk shoved into the far-right corner of the room. It was a bit of an effort to locate the box under all of – presumably Kaya’s – mess, shielded from view by a torn up grey shirt and at least five scarfs that the department obviously hadn’t been fond of. But, at the end of digging through it all, Louis came up with the pink and purple box in question and returned it to Charlie’s side in a bit of an unnecessary haste.

Charlie took the box from Louis with a grateful humming noise, offering one of those kind and relaxed smiles before returning to work on Cher’s hair.

Louis, not really seeing much point in just standing around and waiting for Charlie to give him something to do, decided to go over to Harry and ‘help’ him collect the unprecedented number of blazers from the rack he’d been sent over to.

By ‘help’, he meant interrogate about the damn _nail polish_ situation.

Harry had all of the blazers hanging off one of his arms by the time Louis clambering his way over, fringe swept low over his forehead and blue eyes sparkling with a confusing paradox of emotions. “Need some help?” He asked, amused as Harry stumbled and he gripped the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him back to his feet and dusting off his shirt like they did in the cringy romance movies. Harry giggled, sticking his tongue out at Louis like a little kid before handing over three of the six blazers, so they had an equal number.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling fondly.

Louis just shook his head, reaching up with his free hand to ruffle Harry’s curls affectionately. “No problem, Hazza. Always here to listen ‘n help.”

 _Fuck_ interrogating about the situation from before – it was too depressing for right then, in Louis’ opinion, considering Harry gripped the older boy’s hand in his own, absolutely _dwarfing_ Louis’ palm with his stupidly huge one, and brought it up to his lips to kiss lightly. Louis felt himself flush pink as he giggled, snatching his hand back to his chest in a smooth movement.

“Oh Romeo,” Harry moaned out, all faux-high pitched and cute and Louis couldn’t help but almost collapse with laughter, almost dropping his three blazers on the floor doing so. Harry was laughing too, him this time being the one to reach out and stabilise Louis instead of it being vice-versa.

“Haaaaarrryyyyy!” Charlie called out, but Louis could hear the laughter in the stylist’s voice as he did so. “Can I have those blazers now, losers? Would be super great.”

“Sure thing, Char,” Harry called back, but he was still grinning like an idiot as he dragged Louis back over to the other two people in the room by his shirt collar. Louis was finding it a little difficult to breathe, what with his lungs failing to work from Harry just, y’know, _existing,_ not even from his shirt collar being pulled, but he still found himself grinning like an idiot as he handed his own three blazers over to Charlie, Harry following his example.

“If you two are going for the stupidly-in-love look, it’s paying off,” Charlie commented after a few moments of Harry and Louis just trading little glances with each other, and Louis choked on his saliva before he turned to sit down on the sofa, in need of a moment to catch his breath and steady his heart.

\--

Around twenty-minutes later, Cher had been shaken awake and Harry had managed to examine and evaluate at least half of the stock the costume and makeup department had in their little designated area while Louis lounged on the sofa, watching Charlie’s actions closely and trying to learn how to tame seemingly untameable hair so he could at least _attempt_ Fizzy’s when he eventually got home after the show.

“Gotta choose a dress for tonight, babes!” Charlie called over to Cher as he flicked through the coatrack of clothes adjacent to where Louis and Harry had collected the blazers, withdrawing two white dresses and moving them to hang on the hook right beside where Cher was sitting. The girl pouted, rolling her eyes at Louis and fake-retching, making him throw his head back on a loud giggle.

“They’re so _nice,”_ Harry mumbled, moving towards the dresses and stroking a hand down the front of one, body visibly relaxing at the contact. “Like, _proper_ silk dresses. Imagine.”

“You should steal the other one,” Cher told him in a joking tone, eyes sparkling. “’M gonna take the one with the lace highlights.”

Louis was about to giggle again, but he registered the serious expression on Harry’s face and raised a curious eyebrow.

“What, actually considerin’ takin’ a dress, Hazza?” The older of the two boys asked in a gentle tone, smiling as Harry sighed and leaned back, blatantly examining the dresses. Charlie strode past at that moment, patting Harry’s shoulder somewhat-comfortingly before getting back to work on Cher’s mess of hair that still wasn’t fully under control but was definitely an improvement from before.

“Not either of these,” the curly headed boy eventually answered, bottom lip catching between his teeth. “I dunno, but white doesn’t really seem like my colour. If they had it in blue, yeah, I’d take one. Like, uhm, like the whole nail polish thing. Girls have it so lucky when it comes to clothing.”

Cher snorted, grumbling out a little _no we don’t_ as two of Charlie’s assistant stylists ran their practiced hands through the thick strands, having been called from the back rooms while Charlie retreated someplace else to retrieve whatever it was he was looking for.

Louis was a little taken aback, though, and made his way over to Harry with a little questioning hum in the back of his throat. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, like it was a forbidden confession. “I mean, obviously it’s not perfect. They just, I dunno, get so many better options than we get. Like, see my shirt, right?” He gestured to the shirt in question, a rough white tee with a ridiculously stretched out neckline – probably from Harry pulling at it. “It’s pretty awful quality, to be honest. But then look at these _dresses_.” Harry broke off, almost making a dreamy and wistful sighing noise as he stroked over the fabric again.

“They’re _pure silk,_ and so soft and comfortable, undoubtedly. Silk is comfy, right, Cher?”

Harry turned to the girl in question, who shot him a thumbs-up without turning away from the mirror hanging on the wall directly in front of her.

“Comfiest fabric ever,” she offered, and Harry hummed almost as though in praise of Cher’s decision before he launched back into his spiel. Louis was honestly riveted, completely enthralled in Harry’s intensity.

“If a guy wears _anything_ silky, though, we’re automatically called camp or, y’know, the f slur, stuff like that. Things that are supposed to be insulting. It’s like the nail polish thing with Simon,” he added on, voice shaking a fraction. “It’s taking away an element of expression that we should have because apparently it’s wrong for us to express ourselves femininely. But girls are expected to wear stuff like this all the time.”

He paused, taking in a deep breath, before finishing off his little declaration. “I mean, obviously the sexism goes both ways. Like if a girl wears a suit, she’s immediately called a slut and an attention-seeker and tonnes of other insults, yeah? But I just wish nobody cared, so we could wear whatever we want without being judged for it.”

“Like, I dunno… Like a double-sided blade,” Louis murmured, nodding along with Harry’s slow and molasses like voice as he tapered off.

He understood Harry’s point, one-hundred-percent, and couldn’t help but wistfully think of forcing the world into acceptance of all people – men, women, those who identified differently. Everybody. “Girls are expected to dress pretty all the time, men are expected to not give a shit about their appearance, and people who identify otherwise are completely invalidated altogether. Doesn’t matter if they’re feminine or masculine – they’re just ignored by society and it’s gross, y’know?”

He paused to take a deep breath before finishing off. “People should just be allowed to dress how they want, no matter who they are and how they identify.”

Harry bit his lip and smiled at Louis, all wide and bright-eyed and looking borderline angelic. “Absolutely. It shouldn’t matter who somebody is. If they wanna wear suits, then they can, and if they wanna wear dresses ‘n silk, they can. Or like, if they wanna be androgynous, go for it, y’know?”

“You’re incredibly brave, Harry,” Louis mumbled, pulling Harry into a soft embrace (okay, since _when_ had Harry been the same height as Louis? He’d always been built a little bigger, yeah, with broader shoulders and hips, but he’d never been _taller,_ and Louis didn’t really want to confront the flush he felt in his heart over it).

“Not as brave as you,” Harry murmured back softly, smiling into Louis’ neck where he’d hidden his face. “Never as brave as you.”

|||

_(29 th of November)_

Louis had been twitchy all day, and Harry couldn’t help but worry that he was about to run away again to someplace the boys would never be able to find.

The eldest member of the band was curled up in Liam’s lap – a stark reversal to how it usually went, with Louis cradling Liam and kissing his face to make him flush red in embarrassment every chance the smaller boy got – with his hands pulled in tight to his chest and fingers jerking every few moments after he’d been still for too long. He’d been clingy and weird since he’d slinked back into the _X-Factor House_ after an hour or two at _Fountain Studios,_ only offering the boys a half-grin and half-arsed reassurances that he was fine when it was pretty obvious he wasn’t.

“Lou,” Liam started carefully, bringing the boys out of their comfortable silence where they’d been sprawled across the living room watching _Gremlins._ “Lou, maybe we should skip out on the video diary today. You’re not one-hundred-percent, don’t even try and prove me wrong, and you’ll send the whole internet into a spiral over figuring out s’wrong with you.”

Louis waved a dismissive hand, promptly ignoring the looks being shot at him from all of his bandmates without moving from Liam’s lap. “No, Lima. I’m fine, promise. I have a little somethin’ up my sleeve for this one, anyway. Would be a huge shame to miss it.”

“Y’sure, Tommo?” Zayn asked in a small voice from where he’d pressed himself into the corner of the sofa, knees tucked to his chest and shoulder jammed against the arm of the furniture piece rather uncomfortably. “Can always save it for ‘morrow, or somethin’.”

Shaking his head, Louis said rather plaintively, “No. ‘m doin’ it today. Gotta do it today.”

Zayn looked like he was about to start protesting again, so Harry reached over and slapped a hand over his friend’s mouth, knowing any sort of argument would be pointless because whatever it was Louis wanted to do was going to happen. Louis shot Harry a cross because an appreciative and surprised look, and Harry frowned at him, lip caught between his teeth before he averted his eyes and removed his hand from Zayn’s mouth, the Bradford boy watching him carefully.

Nobody argued, knowing it was fruitless.

\--

_“And I’d marry you, Harry.”_

Harry - - Harry couldn’t feel anything beyond the soft hand on his shoulder from Louis as his friend spoke the words, unrestrained and bold and honest in a way that was so cleverly masked that only Harry could tell it wasn’t a lie.

But - -

But.

He zoned out for the rest of the video diary, suddenly thankful for how he’d cut Zayn’s protest off earlier, because he’d been able to hear Louis say that.

It couldn’t mean anything, though.

Mustn’t’ve.

|||

_(3 rd of December)_

Harry was shaken awake from his evening nap by insistent and strong hands that he’d have to suffer brain damage to forget who they belonged to.

“Lou?” He mumbled, tongue feeling awkward and gross in his mouth as he blinked his eyes and tried to soak in his surroundings so he could start to focus properly. Louis was kneeling next to the sofa (because it turned out Harry had fallen asleep in the _House_ living room, despite not remembering it), with bright eyes and a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, lovely mister virgin Hazza,” he said teasingly, voice all fond and gentle as he reached out to stroke a careful hand through Harry’s curls and move them out of the younger’s face as Harry pouted at the completely unnecessary virginity comment. “Now proper wake up for me, babes. I want you to teach me how to cook, ‘n you bein’ sleepy would be a health ‘n safety issue, f’sure.”

 _That_ certainly woke Harry up.

“Louis,” he said slowly through a yawn as he sat up on the lounge, looking Louis up and down with a disbelieving look. “Can you repeat that, _slowly?”_

“I. Want. You. To. Teach. Me. How. To. Cook,” Louis repeated, purposefully pausing melodramatically between each word just to make fun of Harry’s disbelief.

Harry must’ve died and gone to some insanely domestic and fluffy heaven full of adorable animals and Louis’ bright blue eyes tracking his every movement and reaction, because there was no fucking way that there was a very real Louis kneeling on the floor beside him asking Harry to teach him how to cook. Absolutely _no_ fucking way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Louis told him in a fond voice, clambering to his feet and holding out a hand to help Harry to his slightly shaky feet. The younger boy only had some worn in sweatpants on that were actually Zayn’s, but he couldn’t really be arsed to change into something more suited for cooking. “I promise I mean it. I already have a recipe on my phone that I wanna make, ‘n I want you to help me because I’m hopeless in the kitchen”

Harry was going to _die._ But like, in a nice and peaceful way, because Louis Tomlinson was asking how to cook and he wasn’t going to burn down the entire _House_ while doing so because he was asking _Harry_ for help.

“Okay,” he said slowly, feeling a smile creep up on his face as Louis scrunched his nose affectionately and his eyes crinkled in the corners like he was looking at the sun. “Alright, let’s go. Show me the recipe when we get there.” He paused, thinking, before he checked one last time, “Are you like, _sure_ you wanna learn how to cook?”

Louis batted his shoulder softly and grinned. “’Course, Curly. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure.”

Harry was on his deathbed. That must’ve been it, and Louis was being kind and giving him something he’d been wishing for since the start without outright saying that Harry was dying and he was just granting a wish like a genie.

But he didn’t question it as he rested a soft palm on the back and middle of Louis’ shoulders, pushing him forward first and blushing furiously at the amused bark of laughter from his friend.

\--

“What does it mean by ‘ _butterfly the chicken’?”_ Louis asked in a small voice, leaning back against Harry’s warm chest as he read over the recipe on his phone and looked between that and the slab of chicken on the chopping board situated on the kitchen island. “Like, do I make a butterfly out of chicken? What does it mean?”

Harry laughed, slowly reaching around Louis and taking the phone out of his hands. “I mean, technically, yeah it does mean that. But ‘butterfly’ in terms of cooking is a bit different from an actual butterfly.”

They’d been in the kitchen for a little more than half an hour, Harry literally starting from the _basics,_ showing Louis how different things functioned and helping him grab whatever stuff he needed in order to make his meal of choice: _chicken, stuffed with mozzarella, wrapped in para-ham with a side of homemade mash._ Louis had been all soft and quiet the moment Harry had taken the lead, opting to just do whatever the curly-headed boy asked of him with a little smile and wide, sparkling eyes.

Harry thought he was going to have a heart-attack over how _beautiful_ his friend looked, but it was whatever.

There certainly wasn’t anything platonic-looking while Harry took a knife from the knife-box nearby, passed it to Louis before he grasped the back of Louis’ hand gently, guiding it towards the chicken with a surprisingly steady grip. Louis shuddered a little, giggling out a breathy, “I always forget how huge your hands are, love,” to which Harry just snorted bashfully and bit his lower lip in a useless attempt to suppress his fond smile before replying with a quiet, “No, your hands are just tiny, Lou,” adamantly ignoring the way his heart swelled in his chest at just how severely his hand dwarfed the older boy’s.

Because seriously, it must’ve been weird for him to be so affected by how their _hands_ looked, Jesus.

Louis tensed a little as Harry pressed his hand down so the knife cut slowly through the centre of the chicken, and Harry hummed relaxedly. “Just follow my lead,” he murmured in a reassuringly tone, pushing the knife down further and running it back and forth along the cut.

“Butterflying chicken is when you cut horizontally across the chicken and then open it like a book,” Harry explained as Louis made a confused noise in the back of his throat, eyes trained on Harry’s hand guiding his own hand that was holding the knife. “I don’t know why they named it ‘butterflying’. It never looks much like a butterfly.”

That made Louis relax into the movement, if the quiet chuckle he offered was any indicator, alongside the fact that he leaned further back into Harry with a gentle sigh. “They should’ve named it, like, booking, or something. Booking the chicken. If it’s s’pposed to open like a book. S’where the mozzarella goes.”

“That sounds like you’re organising for a chicken to attend some important event,” Harry commented, butterflies (ha, no pun intended) coming alive in his stomach as Louis threw his head back and laughed loudly, letting Harry continue to guide the movement of his hand grasping the knife.

“Imagine tha’,” Louis snorted, Harry not having to see his face to envision the cheeky grin spread across his friend’s lips. “Jus’ a random chicken showin’ up to a weddin’ or summat.”

“Focus on the knife, Loubear. Don’t want you t’ cut y’self.”

“You were the one who made the joke in the first place.”

Harry flushed red in the cheeks again – he’d blushed so much within the past ten minutes, jesus, he blushed with Louis _so fucking much_ – and hid his affectionate smile in the back of Louis’ neck as he guided Louis’ hand to pull the chicken apart, opening it like it was supposed to.

“Oh,” Louis breathed out, his hand twitching in Harry’s grasp and almost dropped the knife fully into the chicken. He sounded disbelieving, almost awed, and it made Harry’s heart clench a bit in his chest. “Right, so that’s how it works?”

Harry hummed, still smiling into the back of Louis’ neck. “Mhm. That’s how.”

It was all a little too much for Harry to handle on his own, so he cautiously let go of Louis’ hand and moved to grab his phone from the nearby loveseat.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked nervously, putting the knife down beside the cutting board where the chicken was. His eyes were wide as he turned to face Harry, a little frown present on his features as he processed Harry unlocking his phone.

Harry smiled reassuringly as he snapped a quick photo and opened up Twitter. “Just proving to the world that you’re the dream husband for anybody to have.”

Louis was laughing like an idiot as Harry tweeted the photo, both of them still blushing furiously.

\--

With the chicken being slid into the oven and the potatoes boiling away steadily on the stove, Harry moved towards the silverware cabinets to get stuff to set the table.

“No no,” Louis chided, smacking Harry’s hand away from the plates he’d begun reaching for. “My job. You get the cutlery.”

“Do you think I’m gonna drop it or summat?”

Louis winked at him with a cheeky grin as he grabbed the plates himself and made his way towards the kitchen island. “Maybe. You’ll never know.”

Harry spluttered, but grabbed the cutlery anyway, rolling his eyes at Louis as he set the forks and knives down in their respective places. “Rude.”

He looked up and met Louis’ breathtakingly blue eyes, sparkling with laughter and fondness and something else Harry couldn’t quite place but made his heart stutter in his chest and his lips stretch into an unintentional smile that had his eyes crinkling in the corners.

He - - he couldn’t comprehend anything he was feeling, really, couldn’t have been feeling any kind of emotion except for _warm_ in that moment, looking into Louis’ gaze without hesitation, and Louis looked as though he was feeling the exact same.

“Love you,” Harry murmured, still smiling like an absolute idiot as he turned away and heard Louis’ overwhelming happy, “Love you too, Haz.”

\--

Okay, so, Harry couldn’t even hope to pretend that he was unaffected by Louis asking him to teach him how to cook a meal and then proceeding to _actually_ cook it, being all domestic and funny and adorable and _Louis,_ and - -

And okay, _maybe_ he was a bit overwhelmed. But like, in a good way, if that was even a thing.

The oven had gone off a little over ten minutes ago, and the two boys found themselves next to each other at the kitchen island, peacefully eating and making small conversation whenever they dammed necessary. To be completely honest, Louis was the one _starting_ the conversations, considering Harry’s brain had seemed to melt out of his ears and all he seemed capable of doing was exuding fondness in the direction of the stupidly _perfect_ blue-eyed boy beside him.

“S’really good, love,” Harry mumbled around a mouthful before swallowing. He was actually super impressed with the result if he forced himself to function properly for a moment, considering how shaky Louis had been at the start and how reliant on Harry he’d been.

Louis smiled at him like he was looking at the person who hung the moon and stars, and Harry couldn’t help but shift his chair a fraction closer to his friend’s. They were being ridiculously domestic and - - and _fluffy,_ really, but Harry didn’t have many braincells left in order to process that, instead leaning his head against Louis’ shoulder, curls tickling the boy’s ear and making him huff out a gentle laugh.

He didn’t move, though.

Harry felt like he was full of unspent energy, blood sizzling with the urge to just _do_ something, something stupid and insane just to make himself feel a little less like he was going insane.

So. It was completely, utterly stupid and reckless, but Harry couldn’t care less.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, letting his eyes flutter closed as Louis took another mouthful of the dish.

“Yeah?” Louis mumbled around the food, swallowing quickly so as not to be rude (which made Harry’s heart kick in his chest again, damnit). “What about?”

Harry hummed in the back of his throat, curling up a little on his chair so he could get closer to Louis. “Just things,” he responded illusively, making Louis snort. “Like, things I wanna do after the show is over. If we win or not. Doesn’t really ma’er.”

“Sounds complica’ed,” Louis commented, tilting his head to his left so he could lean against Harry’s curls with a relaxed smile. “’N fun, really.”

Harry felt himself smile again before he continued talking. “I mean, yeah. But like, it also makes me happy, you know? ‘Cause it means I know what I want after this is over.”

He could almost hear the cogs turning in Louis’ brain as the smaller boy set down his fork. “Hmm?” He hummed, reaching a hand out to wrap around the back of Harry’s shoulders. “’N what’s that?”

“It probably sounds ridiculous ‘n weird ‘n stupid, but like - - “ Harry cut himself off with a sharp and nervous inhale, refusing to move and meet Louis’ undoubtedly questioning eyes.

Fuck it.

“I want you to move in with me,” he murmured into Louis’ ear, and the elder of the two froze.

 _Shit shit shit,_ was all Harry’s mind was as Louis slowly drew back from his position leaning against Harry, tilting his body on his kitchen stool so he could look at Harry properly. His eyes flickered over Harry’s face, wide with uncertainty and - - was that a little bit of _hope?_

Harry could only pray it was.

“Are you... Are you serious?” Louis asked in a low voice, shaky and sounding of hardly-restrained joy, making Harry’s heart pound relentlessly in his chest.

Harry didn’t even have to pause to think before he answered. “Yeah, Lou,” he breathed, unrestricted and sounding like he’d been drowning and had just been resuscitated. _“Fuck yes,_ one-hundred-percent. Jus’ - - move in with me. We can go flat hunting, ask our mums for help n’ stuff to decide which one is best, ‘cause we probably dunno what we’re lookin’ for, jus’… Please. Move in with me. After the show’s over. I can’t - - ”

He did pause this time, however, to think over his words, make sure he didn’t sound like a complete idiot before:

“I can’t even think about living _without_ you, Lou. It jus’ - - I can’t picture myself without you. ‘M just so used to waking up beside you every morning, joking ‘n cuddling with you every single day, literally just being my best-friend every moment. I need you with me every damn day or I think I might lose my mind.”

Time seemed to freeze between the two of them, Louis’ gaze flickering over each and every centimetre of Harry’s face, as if he were checking how honest Harry was being, how _sincere._

Harry meant every single word.

“Okay.”

All it took was the singular word before Harry was launching himself over to Louis’ kitchen stool and straddling his friend, arms around Louis’ neck and tugging him close with a happy noise in the back of his throat. “Thank you thank you thank you,” he mumbled into the skin of Louis’ throat, unable to contain his happiness. “I fucking _love you.”_

Louis swore his heart stopped beating the moment Harry threw himself into the older boy’s arms, but all he could do to communicate his reciprocated feelings was wrap his arms around Harry’s torso and tug the younger close, close, _close_ to Louis’ warm body. The smaller boy let his body fold forward, effectively drawing Harry closer as he hid his face into Harry’s exposed collarbones and breathed in deeply, a useless attempt to steady his swirling mind. “I fucking love you too,” he whispered out hoarsely on to Harry’s pale skin, and he didn’t need to see Harry’s answering smile to know that it was brighter than every single fucking sun in the entire universe. 

They stayed there, locked in an embrace for what felt like forever, and Harry’s blood was on _fire_ with a confusing paradox of emotions and _Christ,_ he was going to _explode_ if he didn’t do _something,_ so - -

Harry couldn’t have been thinking much at all during what happened next.

“I want you to kiss me,” he murmured, pulling back from the embrace and letting his hand, all soft and reverent drift to Louis’ cheek as he leaned in closer, breath that smelled of honey and spearmint despite their abandoned meal (a surprisingly appealing scent, in Louis opinion) fanning across the eldest of the band’s face. The curly-headed boy didn’t have control over his body, mustn’t’ve, because if he’d been in a sane state of mind he wouldn’t have been leaning in to kiss the life out of his best-friend-who-he-definitely-had-heavy-romantic-feelings-that-he-was-igorning-for-that-probably-weren’t-returned.

He couldn’t have hoped to shut his mouth as he rambled off, voice trembling as his wide and almost frantic eyes flickered over Louis’ face, all wide-eyed and chiselled and so _fucking beautiful,_ Harry’s eyes lingering on his lips without even really meaning them to. “As another gift. A toast to us moving in together after all this is over.” He broke off to take a soft inhale, and Louis found his hands absent-mindedly straying to caress the little sliver of skin on Harry’s hips that had been exposed. Harry shuddered, eyes going impossibly wider and glassy as he met Louis’ gaze again and whispered out a little, “Please.”

Louis must’ve been going insane. Had to have been, because there was no damn chance in hell that this would’ve been happening in real life. Only in his wildest dreams had anything of the sort even come _close_ to happening, it wasn’t even mildly comprehendible, but - -

But here they were, on the damn sofa in the fucking kitchen with Harry straddling Louis’ lap and begging for Louis to kiss him.

Louis Tomlinson was in love with Harry Styles.

He’d be damned if somebody told him he was delusional because he was young, or inexperienced, or just hadn’t properly been with a girl – he was in love with a boy. And that boy was almost like something out of mythology – an angel sent down to protect Louis, to bake him cookies when he was bored and to comfort him when all he wanted to do was hide himself away.

And almost as though he didn’t have control over himself anymore, Louis began to lean in.

But - -

But then there was a crash upstairs and loud voices swearing, and Harry scrambled off Louis’ lap, the moment effectively broken.

By the time anybody else joined them in the kitchen, Harry was washing the dishes and Louis was wiping down the kitchen island, the boys studiously looking anywhere but at each other with the most blindingly obvious flushed cheeks known to mankind.

|||

_(6 th of December)_

It was the day after Mary had been eliminated from the _X-Factor,_ and Louis didn’t really want to do much else other than curl up beneath a warm pile of blankets with Harry’s back pressed against his front and their bandmates slung across them both from all angles.

Nobody had said anything after the weird incident in the kitchen a few days ago, but Louis theorised that was probably because of the tension between all of the contestants over the semi-final steadily approaching. And then with Mary gone, that same tension had been projected tenfold and turned into an absolute nightmare – not even one Harry’s dumb _knock knock_ jokes or Louis and Zayn’s harmless pranks could decimate.

Louis supposed it was the universe’s way of saving his ass, which, by the way, he was incredibly thankful for. Having the semi-final of the show almost upon the contestants had been stressful enough without having to worry about questions as to why he and Harry had been so hesitant around each other, blushing furiously at the barest hint of contact between their bodies, yet falling asleep curled up together like nothing had changed when it seemed as though Louis’ world had been thrown ninety-degrees off its axis.

But seriously, the loss of Mary had really lessened Louis’ desire to spend any time elsewhere from his bunk bed with his bandmates.

As always though, like the loyal little competitive steed he was, Liam had shaken him (and Harry by relation, considering the curly-headed boy had been tucked into Louis’ side, as always, despite whatever had happened between them not so long again) awake at nine o’clock on the dot for their tenth video diary. Louis was rather impressed any of them had remembered what number it was, considering most of the memories from their previous ones had almost seemed to blur together into one day, but he could hardly focus on that when he had to somehow, miraculously, drag himself up and out of bed, _not_ think about kissing Harry until their lips and lungs ached, and get himself into his video diary personality before the cameras started rolling.

When they actually made their way down to their classic staircase, however, they were met with a number of obstacles in the form of the _off-limits_ yellow tape bordering it off, and Marlene Wilkinson’s looming figure hanging in the nearest corner to the first step.

“I’m afraid there’ll be no video diary this week, boys,” she told them in a stiff voice, unforgiving and monotonous, hands clasped in front of her like a proper businesswoman which, yeah, Louis supposed was correct. He felt himself stiffening on instinct where he’d tucked himself into Zayn’s side (because he’d been too afraid to interact with Harry beyond little, fond gestures, for fear of sparking up his internal fantasies of kissing the boy senseless), and Zayn automatically tightened his grip on Louis’ shoulders, shaking his curls out and watching Wilkinson with a disbelieving expression, like he couldn’t quite get his mind around how there were being deprived of their chance to thank the fans.

Louis supposed his _and I’d marry you, Harry,_ had gone a fraction too far back up in the office, if the slight sneer Wilkinson was aiming at him was any indicator, but he didn’t really care much, because he couldn’t find it within himself to.

Or - - or, _Christ,_ maybe it had been the dumb chocolate coin game he and Harry had played a little while ago for the show that he’d basically forgotten about, and Harry had proclaimed _kiss me you fool_ without hesitance right to Louis’ face, and Louis had fake-kissed him on camera.

Turned out there was a lot for the boys to be punished for.

Either way, Louis completely pissed off the evil overlords enough to cancel their last ever video diary. The one chance they were given to thank the fans and let them get to know the band a little better. Bastards.

Louis honestly didn’t have much of a clue as to what management actually thought was happening. In those meetings, they always seemed to change up their approach to see what hit closer to home quicker and more efficiently. Some days they’d talk to him like he was an obsessed child, other days like he was a stupid boy with a too-obvious crush, and the worst days were the ones where they told him that he should give up the _act,_ as if Louis was pretending to love Harry as much as he was showing.

They - - they didn’t even have any _proof_ besides Louis’, y’know, _thing,_ so in their case, all they had were a few assumptions regarding Louis’ _behaviour,_ which really meant they had no idea what they were doing and instead were just trying to invalidate him in any method possible. And possibly by invalidating his emotions, saying he was faking romance for the showbiz, probably hit closest to his heart.

It horrified him a bit whenever he was told that his feelings could ruin the success of the band. One thing such as minor (not so minor) romantic attraction shouldn’t have had so much influence over the potential ride or die of five idiot boys, but apparently it _did,_ and that was too scary for Louis to really think about properly.

He couldn’t stop, like, _loving_ Harry, even after all the meetings and invalidation and being told he’s messed up – like what had happened only a few hours ago, mind you. So he didn’t understand why management cared so much about it that they shoved away a whole section of their schedule to school Louis on his _mannerisms._

He was in love with Harry. And maybe it always hit him at the wrong times, but he was glad it still hit him and Wilkinson and the rest of her crew hadn’t locked it away.

He wanted to have at least a little bit of a jab back at management, even if he could only do that by a sneering insult directed Wilkinson’s way.

Somebody beat him to it, though not through an insult.

“No,” Liam said firmly, watching Wilkinson with a hard gaze. “No, that - - that doesn’t work. We _have_ to do a video diary. It’s out of the question for us to miss it. It’s our last chance to thank the fans and we can’t let them down. We can shorten the length of the video, if that’s the issue here, which is _also_ completely unreasonable.”

Wilkinson’s eyes flickered over to him with a sharp hint of surprise. She must’ve been expecting Louis to be the one to speak up, so Louis couldn’t help but feel a stab of glee at her confusion.

“Sorry,” she said shortly, pulling a hand up to examine her highlighter-pink nails, far too bright for anybody to look at for too long (except for her, apparently, even though she seemed more like the type to be nocturnal and having eyes that glowed red in the dark without a camera). “It’s what I’ve been told. No video diary this week due to some… _rough_ parts of the show that a few of you have caused.” She meant Louis, but she was probably restricted by the bounds of her job when it came down to calling out individual ‘clients’.

“I can’t do anything to change it, even if I wanted to.” She paused again, expression stony before she quickly added, “Not that I _do_ want to.”

When Liam argued, he never screamed or stuttered, something admirable and respectable. He considered and constructed his phrases and arguments and laid one after the other down in a technical manner that deprived those against him of any kind of valid counter-argument. Louis was admittedly one of those who admired him for it, but never _actually_ wanted to learn how to fight like that because he in no way, shape or form had that kind of patience or formulation skill, so he’s immensely glad Liam is on the same side as him for once.

“I don’t care what you’ve been told,” Liam told her, jaw clenched. Louis was a little surprised at his frankness, because even pissed off, Liam was never as blunt as he was being in that moment. “We’re doing a video diary. Perhaps just not on the staircase, if you’re so averted to it. Technically it wouldn’t be a video diary without the staircase, since the setting has become directly associated with our videos.”

Wilkinson made a soft sound of exasperation – the smallest slip up in her nonchalant demeanour. She mustn’t’ve been used to any kind of rebellious or stubborn behaviour before this band, something which also made Louis want to cry out with joy and spit on her unnaturally polished black leather boots.

“I’m not sure what part of what I’m saying isn’t translating properly,” she started, jaw clenched and posture stiff. “But when I say _no video diary,_ that means there will _not_ be a video diary of any sort, no matter the setting. My employers won’t be very pleased to hear about your resistance to their request.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Louis snapped without even really meaning to, earning him a wide-eyed look from each of his bandmates and the narrowing of Wilkinson’s eyes. He didn’t really care much for their reactions, feeling much too angry to filter enough of what he was saying so he only came off as stubborn instead of plain rude. “Stop reporting everything back to the PR management. It’s ridiculously pathetic.”

There were a few moments of silence between everybody, before Wilkinson started talking. “Mr Tomlinson, you more than anybody understand why I have to report back, having been told _explicitly_ by close colleagues of mine, multiple times.” She broke off, watching Louis carefully as he dug his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from yelling at her. “Now, if you would please stop arguing with me over this, we could all get back to doing something more productive than fighting over a _video.”_

“We’ll take it up with Simon later,” Liam cut in before Wilkinson could walk off, steel behind his naturally soft exterior. “And it would only be fitting to let him know that it was you who attempted to deprive us of thanking our fans for their incredible support. I’m sure that there’d be a spot open on his team pretty quickly if he finds out that you’ve caused a drop in our support rates.”

Wilkinson didn’t flinch, but her posture tightened a fraction, and Louis turned to hide his grin in Zayn’s throat as the woman walked away without another word.

\--

They never actually went to complain about it to Simon, though, something Louis was pretty glad for considering Wilkinson had been _employed_ by Simon to watch Louis like a hawk.

Instead, Liam went up to the bunks to grab his computer while the other boys retreated to the gym on the lower level to claim it as their video diary space, asking the staff to kindly close it off until they’d left so they wouldn’t disrupt too many people.

“Smells like sweaty balls in here,” Zayn complained the minute they dragged some chairs near to the treadmills and sat themselves down, Liam having joined them once more and set his laptop up on a stool to film the video diary.

“It _is_ a gym,” Harry pointed out, slinging himself back in his chair and running a hand through his curls to ruffle them up. Not that they _needed_ ruffling up – Louis just liked them to be messier, so naturally, he’d been keeping up his attempts to make Harry flustered enough that the boy would mess them up again without actually directly interacting with him. “Of course it’s gonna smell like sweat in here.”

“Yeah, but like, it’s _bad.”_

“Zayn’s right, Harold,” Louis conceded with a grin, giving himself a break from trying to rip Niall’s shirt, the blonde’s hands moving in the air to try and ward off any follow-up attacks. “It stinks excessively in here. They could at least, like, set candles up or something if they can’t be bothered to do a proper clean out.”

Their first proper interaction of the day other than their regular little gestures. Louis could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest.

Harry made an indignant noise in the back of his throat and faux-pouted at Louis. “What happened to you always siding with me?” He asked in a melodramatically sad voice, watching Louis with wide eyes that almost had the older boy caving and apologising on the spot.

“You always have Niall, though,” he eventually argued, searing Harry with a twin faux-pout. “I get Zayn, you get Niall, and Liam is the mediator. Seems fair. One dumb person on each team, one smart person, and then the most reasonable person as the one who makes sure nobody loses an arm.”

“If you’re referring to me as the dumb one in our team, I think I might have to pour boiling water over your head in retaliation,” Zayn stated, sounding borderline sarcastic despite his threat being a very real threat and something he’d already attempted to do on Louis after the older boy had tricked him into trying to prank Bex and instead Bex and Louis had teamed up to prank _him._

“As if you’d ever want to ruin my pretty face, darling,” Louis cooed, reaching over and ruffling Zayn’s hair affectionately while Zayn tried to fend him off, flipping him the bird before the older boy continued. “Well, anyway, as I was saying, those are the teams, and like, how this shit works.”

Zayn got out a little _I never agreed to that_ even though Louis knew the boy from Bradford would side with the eldest of the band anyway despite the prankster-being-pranked occurrence, while Niall shouted _fuck yeah,_ throwing himself at Harry as Liam just rolled his eyes setting up the laptop’s camera.

Louis supposed being in love with Harry with no chance of reciprocation despite what had happened between them in the kitchen wasn’t so bad when their bandmates were being dumb and shitheads around them and they got to steal little glances at each other which plainly said _I’ll still side with you. Mostly._

\--

The boys found themselves in Simon’s office later on in the day after the video diary, but it wasn’t to report to him about what Marlene Wilkinson had attempted to do earlier.

There were papers in front of them on Simon’s desk, just scratched-out notes of information in unnaturally neat handwritten for the final few days leading up to the next performance. Final songs, home visits for the 7th of December (which everybody visibly brightened at, especially Louis, who couldn’t wait to hug his mum and sisters. Mullingar was out of the question due to some intense snow though, so the four other boys in the band were pretty focused on keeping Niall sane), all that kind of stuff.

Simon pulled a sheet out paper out from the middle of the pile. “Let’s talk about song choices for the final,” he said in a firm tone, offering the boys a curt nod before sliding the paper across the desk rather than just reading out to the boys what their options are. Louis thought it all to be unnecessarily melodramatic, but he didn’t care for that too much as he knocked his head against Liam’s to get a good view of the list.

“These are _good,”_ Zayn said, sounding a little awed. “Like, proper good. Not really my genre, but like, entirely more-than tolerable choices.” Louis snorted and rolled his eyes at his friend, Zayn reaching over the back of Liam’s shoulders to smack Louis over the back of the head as a way of retort.

“Elton!” Niall crowed, having skim-read the list, grinning like an idiot and knocking his shoulder against Harry’s, making the curly-headed boy snort and shake his head in amusement. “Yes, Niall,” he said, sighing a little through his teeth as his friend’s enthusiasm. “I can read, which means I can see Elton listed there.”

“Oh sod off, Harold. I’m _excited!”_

“Robbie Williams,” Liam pointed out, cutting in between Niall and Harry’s little banter episode, shooting the former a look that plainly said _you’d choose Elton over_ the _Robbie Williams?_ To which the blonde responded with a nonchalant shrug and the same grin he’d had before.

Louis scanned over the rest of the list, kind of ignoring his bandmates for a bit, his eyes immediately being drawn to and lingering on the fifth one of the ten or so choices, his breath catching in his chest for a moment.

“ _Torn_ ,” he eventually murmured, feeling the gazes of his bandmates trained on him closely – and possibly Simon’s, too, but he didn’t really want to think about that factor for longer than he had to.

He looked up, feeling hesitant as he glanced around the four other teenagers in the room, silently asking them for confirmation. This - - this was a chance for Louis to redeem himself for letting them down back at Judges’ Houses, a chance for him to prove to everybody and anybody that he had _worth_ in the band instead of just being a decorative piece for people to ogle at.

He glanced at Harry and the curly-headed boy was watching him with wide eyes, the two of them having not really spoken all day beyond small interactions. He was watching Louis with a keen gaze, silently begging him to just do it, to say that they’d chosen _Torn,_ because Harry _knew._

Louis let himself soften his smile into something much more personal – something like the smiles he’d shot at Harry when they’d made the stupid chicken-stuffed-with-mozzarella meal, all fuzzy and fond and pretty.

Harry, looking like he couldn’t bear to do anything else, returned the smile, giving Louis a little thumbs up from where he was sitting at the opposite end of chairs.

“ _Torn_ it is for the final song,” Simon announced, taking the grins from each boy in front of him as permission to circle the song and store the piece of paper away, but Louis couldn’t draw his eyes away from his friends who were looking at him with reassuring smiles and flushed cheeks and wide gazes.

“Now,” Simon started, watching them all closely. “How do we feel about having _She’s the One_ as your performance from Robbie?”

They boys were all still a little out of it, shooting each other looks, and Louis answered without looking away from Harry for a single moment. “Yeah, Simon. Sounds brilliant.”

\--

They were packing up in the studio after their vocal rehearsals, Savan having ditched early because of an emergency phone call from home. The boys had wished him well and promised they’d clean up all the sheet music strewn everywhere and the loose microphones, and then it’d just been them at seven in the evening after a vigorous two-hour session that had left them completely drained.

It was… weird, to say the least. Quiet and methodical work in cleaning up instead of their usual boisterous shouting and playfights and wrestling on the floor which usually ended up with four out of five bandmates tackling the unlucky one to end up on his back first. While they were cleaning up the recording studio, nobody was really speaking, except for hushed whispers between them every so often and Louis constantly cursing under his breath every time he accidentally dropped something.

He felt like he needed to apologise for something, but to his knowledge he hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, not in present time, and he never really apologised for things that had happened a while ago so he must’ve only done something recently to make him feel such overwhelming guilt deep in his chest and spreading through his veins at an alarming pace.

Just as Louis fumbled with one of the microphones and hissed out _fuck this,_ Liam boldly broke the silence.

“I think,” the boy started in a considerate tone, brows marginally furrowed. “I think we need to talk about today. How rehearsal went, I mean. Not the whole day. Although, there are a few things we need to talk about regarding the confrontation with that woman at the staircase.”

Louis felt his heart lurch in his chest and he was lucky he put down the microphone on the nearest desk before he dropped and broke it, like he’d already almost done. “What about it?” He asked, clearly wary, earning himself a half-arsed glare from both Harry and Niall which just made his heart miss a few more beats and bile rise in the back of his throat.

He was starting to realise why he felt the need to apologise, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Harry - - Harry _knew_ about the microphone situation back at Judges’ Houses, so Louis supposed that made complete sense, but _Niall?_ Either Harry had told him about it – which Louis seriously doubted, really, because Harry never did anything that he knew would make another person feel bad unless he absolutely had to – or he’d figured it out, and - - and like, that meant that Liam and Zayn may have figured it out, too.

“We sounded bloody fantastic, is what,” Zayn answered after a few seconds, clear and sounding bright. “And I think our discussion about it should just be us drinking ourselves senseless and passing out in our bunks like normal teenagers do back home. Like how the cool ones of us _used_ to do.”

Drinking himself out of consciousness sounded quite nice to Louis in that moment as he studiously avoided jumping back into the conversation and continued packing away the microphone wires.

Zayn wasn’t wrong, and all of them knew it. Savan had made them stave off practicing _She’s the One_ until their session with Robbie Williams on Wednesday (which Louis had been constantly trying to stop thinking about because if he did, he’d probably jump and cry and scream and a bunch of other completely insane reactions that would probably end him up in a psych ward), but their session with _Your Song_ had been wonderful, the perfect mix of soft and rock for their style, and then - -

Then there was _Torn._

Singing _Torn_ for the second proper time with his boys had been absolutely incredible on Louis’ end. It - - it sounded _complete,_ unlike how it had sounded at Judges’ Houses, with their shaky voices and inconsistent volume and absent vocal backbone.

Louis was the first to admit that he and the boys sounded pretty awful at Judges’ Houses, and even for a number of their performances. He wasn’t embarrassed to say that, not in the slightest, so to hear how _good_ they sounded after a few run-throughs of _Torn_ felt like an out-of-body experience, an achievement that he’d never fathomed.

Louis supposed he should’ve felt better about it, should’ve encouraged them all to celebrate how well their voices were meshing together after so much hard work and effort, but his enthusiasm and excitement had been significantly dulled over the fact that it had been him that had totally fucked up their performance at Judges’ Houses. He started scratching at his arm anxiously, nails biting into the skin in a way that sent little spits of pain up his arm and a shiver down his spine. He didn’t stop, though, knowing his nails were leaving red trails on his tanned skin.

“I agree with Zayn,” Liam stated. “Not about the drinking part, but about how nice we sounded. It’s obvious to say that we’ve improved throughout the length of the show and have like, learned how to mould our voices together more successfully than we could before, but…” He trailed off, biting his lip, before he soldiered on to finish his point. “But it’s impossible for us to sound that good on a song we kinda trashed back at Judges’ Houses. We’d have needed more than just vocal coaching to achieve that. We actually had a _backbone_ on the song today instead of it all just being our voices messily forced together in patterns.”

Harry snorted and Niall guffawed into his balled-up fist, making Louis whip towards them with wide eyes. Harry was looking at him with some kind of unreadable emotion in his eyes while Niall just raised his eyebrows at the older boy, a clear message that was daring Louis to cut in before the blonde said something.

Louis stayed quiet.

Zayn looked towards Harry and Niall with sharp eyes, Liam copying the action after only little more than a second’s delay. “What, H ‘n Ni?” The Bradford boy demanded, voice unwavering. Louis could feel his eyes burning.

Harry stayed quiet, while Niall shook his head and had the audacity to look a little guilty before he spoke. “Louis’ microphone was disconnected at Judges’ Houses. He didn’t ask to turn it on and pretended to sing into it when the sound wasn’t actually being picked up on any system.”

Louis wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, his heart clenching in his chest as shame welled up in his stomach. He averted his eyes from any of the other boys as he sat himself down on the studio floor, hiding his face from view.

“You did _what?”_ Liam demanded, and Louis couldn’t stand the betrayed tone his friend’s voice had taken on. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to not tremble where he was sitting.

“How did you know?” He asked quietly, not answering Liam’s question, even if it had probably been meant in a rhetorical manner. “H - - Harry knew, ‘cause he saw, but you didn’t see. How?”

“I figured it out soon enough,” Niall responded smoothly, his voice much closer to Louis than it had been before. The boy from Doncaster felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder – probably a reassuring hand from the blonde boy, a silent apology for exposing him – and he made himself not relax into the touch as a single tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away furiously before anybody could see. “I knew it sounded off from when we went acapella, and then remembered it was how we sounded when we tried to rehearse without you. The pieces kind of fell together for me, honestly.”

So Harry hadn’t told him. Louis still wanted to cry.

“’m sorry,” he whispered, letting his body shake a little. “It - - it was turned off when I was given it, but like, it wasn’t connected to anything. I didn’t bother to ask for somebody to reconnect it, and it was too late by the time Harry saw me messin’ with it and tryin’ to reconnect it myself.”

Harry made an agitated noise from across the recording studio while Zayn cursed quietly under his breath and Liam and Niall stayed completely silent, probably trying to figure out what to say in response.

He cut in before anybody could saw anything. “I didn’t believe I was necessary,” he admitted, voice a little hoarse from the silently shed tears that he’d been wiping away. “Thought maybe the broken mic was just a sign that it was a fluke I was there with you guys. I didn’t want to screw it up.”

“It wasn’t a fucking _fluke,”_ Zayn snapped quietly, having sat himself down and moved a fraction closer to where Louis was. “Still isn’t a fluke. You’re _meant_ to be here with us.”

“It wouldn’t be _One Direction_ without you, Lou,” Liam added in an equally quiet voice, soft and calming, a lot less fierce than Zayn. “It’s all of us or none of us. And you’re included in that. You’re - - you’re the backbone of this band, emotionally as well as musically.” Liam trailed off, and Louis could see Harry nodding in his peripherals.

“He knows,” the curly-headed boy murmured and Louis didn’t need to be face-to-face with him to know how wide his beautifully green eyes were. “I - - I tell him all the time. He’d have to be much thicker in the head than he is if he hadn’t gotten the point by now.”

_We needed you._

Louis still felt shame swirling inside him, even after the admission was out in the air. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d have never admitted to it by himself, and it was only because of Niall and Harry that everybody in the band knew.

It was probably that.

Liam cleared his throat, ever the leader and mediator. Louis had chosen well when he’d jokingly split the band off into teams earlier in the gym for their video diary.

“That was good,” the boy said, voice still soothingly smooth. “Almost therapeutic. Does anybody else want to say something? There’s a strict no-secrets-in-the-band policy here, unless it’s something inappropriate, like you’ve been practicing BDSM, or something.”

“But that’d be interesting!” Niall complained, and Louis was sure the blonde was next to him now, if the louder volume of his voice was any indicator.

The boys all snorted before falling silent.

“That woman,” Niall started, hesitance clear in his tone as he shifted anxiously from foot to foot, bravely breaking the silence and sounding much more anxious than he had been before. “Who is she? And what did she mean when she said ‘you would know better than anybody’ to you, Lou? And she keeps on takin’ you aside at random points in the day. I’ve never seen her before, so unless you hooked up wit’ her at some point and she’s stalkin’ you or summat - - “

“Her name is Marlene Wilkinson,” Louis cut in before the blonde could ramble for any longer, his voice trembling. “She works for _Modest! Management._ It’s the managing-slash-PR company usually linked with Simon and _Syco._ And no, I never hooked up with her. You should know better than to assume I’d hook up with somebody her age who’s such a damn prick.”

“Why is she so interested in you?” Zayn asked, voice low and eyes flickering with something dangerous as he watched Louis like a hawk. “What have you ever done to warrant her literally dragging you _everywhere_ when you so much as slip up for half a second? Sounds sleazy t’me.”

Louis gulped, scratching harder at his harm, but in a smaller movement, just over one part of his forearm right before his wrist. He needed to _breathe,_ damnit, needed a minute to pull himself together before he could even consider talking.

“She, uhm - - “ he cut himself off when his voice broke pitifully, and he almost choked on his own saliva as he tried to clear his throat. “She was assigned by some of the superiors in the PR business of the show to, like, police me. Apparently I’m - - apparently I’m doing some undesirable things that are startin’ up a storm in the press. She wants to shut it down.”

All of his bandmates were frowning, before Liam spoke up, expression clearly communicating his concern.

“I haven’t seen shit in the press,” the boy told him firmly, cracking his knuckles. “At least, not in the major papers or on the big social media sites ‘n stuff. There’s nothing there. Unless they’re talking about minor papers. And even then, what would they even be talkin’ ‘bout? You’ve never done anything wrong or suspicious to warrant that.”

 _Oh, if only that were true,_ Louis thought bitterly, shaking his head and curling in on himself a little, still scratching at his arm. It was like a burning kind of itch now, like his arm was burning up from fever and mosquito bites at the same time.

Just as he went to speak up again, Harry cut in with a breaking voice, moving in a flash to Louis side that had the older boy tensing with worry, having finally looked up and seen Niall sitting next to him, a solid and warm presence.

In a heartbeat, Harry was crouched in front of him, eyes wide, faster than Louis could’ve ever blinked. “Oh, Lou, stop scratching your wrist,” he whispered, voice-box betraying him for a moment and letting his voice crack in the middle of his sentence. “You’re bleeding.”

Louis forced himself to stop scratching at his arm and made a vulnerable noise he was not proud of as he noticed the thin trickles of blood running down his wrist and over his palm. Harry quickly wrapped his abnormally huge hand around the open wounds, making Louis hiss and jerk in his grip as the younger boy tried to stop the blood flow, Liam making a horrified noise from where he was standing and Zayn cursing under his breath.

Harry yanked out the bandanna he’d been wearing in his hair all evening to tie it around Louis’ wrist and soak up the blood.

“But your bandanna - - “ Louis tried to protest, pain shooting up his arm as his bandmates crawled closer, Harry tying the knot in the bandanna tight to close the wound until it could be dressed properly back up in the _House_.

“I don’t care,” Harry said forcefully, leaving no room for argument as he reached up and smoothened Louis’ fringe, a fierce kind of protectiveness overcoming his usually soft and pliant gaze – a thing that made Louis just want to curl into the boy and stay in his arms forever. Harry shook his head once, biting at his bottom lip before he gently ran a hand down Louis’ uninjured arm. “You’re fucking bleeding, Lou. If my bandanna gets ruined from helping you stop being hurt, then I don’t _care_ if it’s all messed up.”

Louis was stunned into silence and didn’t protest at all as Harry pulled him to the younger boy’s chest in an all-encompassing embrace, their fellow bandmates quickly piling on.

\--

Some hours later after the boys had left the studio and gone back up to the _House_ where Harry had carefully bandaged Louis’ arm, Louis was lying awake in his bunk, back facing the rest of the room and face directly in front of the wall. He was trying to feign sleep so as not to draw attention to himself, but as he heard Harry pause by the bed, clearly contemplating sleeping by himself for once or crawling in with Louis, he caved and let out a tiny little sighed _come up here, Haz. Please._

Harry made a little noise in the back of his throat before climbing up and sliding in behind Louis, pressing his face between Louis’ shoulder-blades and murmuring into the delicate skin, “I’m so sorry, Lou. I didn’t mean to stress you out to the point where you hurt yourself.”

Louis turned over in a heartbeat, face-to-face with Harry for the first time since Harry had finished cleaning up the older boy’s arm. “Don’t apologise,” he whispered, reaching up a hand so he could stroke his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t even realise it had happened until you pointed it out.”

“I’m still sorry,” Harry argued, eyelashes fluttering as Louis stroked over his skin again. “Even if I don’t need to apologise for anything, I still made it clear that something had happened at Judges’ Houses when I knew you wanted to forget it.”

“It’s fine, Haz,” Louis eventually murmured, his brain taking a moment to process that this was the most intimate he and Harry had been since Harry had begged for Louis to kiss him senseless.

There was a long, long pause.

“Yeah?” Harry whispered, still sounding unsure.

Louis loved him so much.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  
> That happened.  
> :)  
> Final part of the X-Factor era in this fic will be out in like, a week maximum instead of a damn month for once. I'm working on speeding up posting parts of this fic because it's bothering me that I take so FUCKING LONG to update it. Sooooooooooo yeah. That's it for now fellas. See ya'll in three days for the final part of the 2010 era!! 
> 
> A lot goes down in 2011, so get your asses ready for that. love you all xx


	8. 7th of December 2010 - 12th of December 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Y’know, Louis,” Katie started, taking a sip of the red wine swirling in her glass. “I don’t think you realise how much you really mean to him.”
> 
> She didn’t need to specify who she meant. They both knew automatically.
> 
> “I’m just his best-friend,” Louis protested in a low voice, knocking back the vodka shot in his hand and grimacing at how strong it was. Katie obviously didn’t really water down anything. “Nothing more. I - - I don’t know what you mean by saying I don’t know that.”
> 
> Katie shook her head, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “No, dumbarse. You boys are hopeless. You’re not just his best-friend. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him openly love someone as much as he loves you, and not as a friend. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL PART OF THE X-FACTOR ERA!!  
> I'm honestly super excited to FINALLY be able to say that. The X-Factor Era is Part 1 of ten parts to this fic, and I'm pretty glad to say it's done. It's always super hard for me to write founding/introductory chapters, so that's probably why. This one is, um, kind of a monster, so I deeply apologise for that (I literally could not spend more than ten minutes at a time writing it because of my short attention span. Come to think of it, that’s probably why this fic is so slowly updated).  
> anyway, my mini spiel is over. I hope you all enjoy the final X-Factor Era part!

_(7 th of December)_

It was six in the morning – far too early, in the boys’ opinions – and Louis was in a sleek black van speeding down the motorway somewhere between London and Doncaster, and he and Zayn were having a water-bottle-lightsaber battle while Harry was slumped between Louis’ spread knees, down in the gap between the seats. Niall was asleep at the other end of the seat Louis was on while Liam mirrored him on the adjacent seat, hands tucked beneath his cheek against the window.

“I win!” Louis cried a little too loudly, earning a slap on the shin from Harry urging him to quieten down as Zayn pouted at the older boy, Louis having caught him rather harshly on the arm with his water-bottle, leaving a red mark. Louis still had his wrist bandaged from the day before in the studio and he’d had to load up on painkillers a few hours earlier to dull down the ferocious ache from when he’d first woken up.

“Another round,” Zayn demanded, playful yet competitive grin on his face. They’d already had eleven rounds of it, six to Louis’ name – including his last win – and five to Zayn’s, and apparently the Bradford boy wasn’t eager to back down and lose.

 _Fuck it, really_.

“Fine,” Louis agreed, smirking as he considered his idea from a few hours prior. “But whoever loses has to be slapped by the other on the stage at Wolverhampton. In the middle of the concert in front of the whole crowd.”

Zayn’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise and Harry made a little sound of amusement from where he was sitting on the floor between Louis’ legs, before the second oldest boy of their little trio nodded with a wicked grin on his face. “It’s on, loser. I’m eager to smack your face in front of a few hundred people, that’s for sure.”

The fight lasted for a little longer than five minutes, before Zayn somehow managed to smack Louis in the face with his water-bottle, and Louis was seriously regretting coming up with the bet.

“Make sure you film me hitting Lou in the face in the middle of the performance, Haz,” Zayn prompted, snickering as Louis threw the water-bottle at the boy’s head in a salty manner.

Harry shot Zayn a grin and a thumbs-up, ignoring Louis’ squawk of dissent and the smack from the eldest of the band landed on the curly-headed boy’s shoulder.

The boys had a ridiculously packed day ahead of themselves, but none of them were really complaining about it. Up first they had a school visit, followed by a home visit, a signing and then closing off with a concert.

Louis was really the only one who was a little iffy about what was going on, and that was only because he was confused by the crew choosing _Doncaster_ for the scheduled school visit. Either the crew members were mind-readers or they just recreationally stalked the boys (which really wasn’t too far-fetched), because all of the stops throughout the day seemed to creepily align with what each boy wanted to get out of their home visits (except for Niall, who was still sulky – rightfully so – over having to miss his own home visit because of the snow not slowing down back in Mullingar).

For example, to kick off the day, the boys would be making an appearance at Louis’ old school – Hall Cross. Really his second school, but the only one he’d liked out of it and Hayfield. It was a little poetic to be completely honest, possibly the most poetic of all the visits they were making, even more than the other boys’ that had somehow fit into exactly what they needed, because in the school auditorium they were to be presenting themselves in were perhaps little more than thirty odd people who had supported Louis from the start (his mum and sisters, of course, alongside Stan and some more of his friends from the football team and theatre club), and a fraction over a thousand people who’d torn him down and told him he’d never amount to anything.

There were his teachers who’d never liked him much for his excitable and hyperactive and disruptive behaviour who’d always sent him up to the principal’s office at the slightest hint of disobedience (Louis couldn’t _wait_ to see the look on his history teacher and geography teacher’s faces, honestly, because they’d been the main two harassing him since the start).

There were the boys from his PE class that hated his guts openly because he was a theatre and band kid, and he hated them too but never really vocalised it to anybody save for his friends and had only fallen together because of their dislike of the teachers and school-work and the fact that they threw wicked parties equipped with proper alcohol and joints.

They’d laughed at him when he’d told them he’d gotten the role of Danny Zuko in the school’s musical performance of _Grease,_ and one of them – Murphy, Louis thought his name was – had given him a black eye, a bloodied nose and pretty much cast him out of that group from PE Louis hadn’t even liked after news had hit the school that he’d auditioned for _X-Factor._ He’d skipped classes for the rest of the day and went home with Stan instead.

It would be rather therapeutic for Louis to witness those boys that morning, still stuck on Doncaster with their half-time jobs that hardly paid enough to help keep themselves afloat and their blistering jealousy over those who were actually getting someplace in their lives.

And there was Louis, an ­ _X-Factor_ finalist, and he could finally shove it in their faces like they so dearly deserved.

Then the boys would be travelling for Harry, who hadn’t been able to stop himself from tearing up and crying into the crook of Louis’ neck at every single one of the interviews with the finalists’ family and friends. Having a party at in old home in Holmes Chapel was entirely perfect for him, even if he didn’t _actually_ know about the party, only knew about getting to see everybody (yes, Louis and the rest of the boys had been texting Katelyn Salazaar nonstop to get it all organised, and she’d been more than willing to comply, promising them she’d sneak some booze in for them all to share. Louis couldn’t wait to finally meet her, after Harry stopped crying into her arms, because that was truly inevitable).

Harry would finally be able to introduce his new best-friends to his family and his friends, and he’d finally be able to have his sob-inducing conversation with his parents over how proud they are of everything he’d achieved since he’d first set foot on the ­ _X-Factor_ stage and then a similar one with his best-friend who’d never doubted him for a second.

Next up on the list was the signing in Bradford, and Zayn had been bubbling with adrenaline over the fact that it was their chance to experience the real popstar life without actually _being_ a proper popstar. He’d always wanted a taste of it to see if it was as euphoric as people made it out to be, and his eyes had been glowing with some potent mix of determination and happiness at the prospect of it all. He’ll have the ability for friends to come see him be _famous_ with having to really worry about paparazzi and cameras in their faces, which meant that his family could also make an appearance. They were fairly private people from what Zayn’s said in the past, and he had no wishes for them to be overwhelmed by the traction the boys were receiving, which meant the lack of yelled questions and flashing lenses from paps would allow for a bit of breathing room for everybody.

And to close off the day, they had their performance at Wolverhampton, where Liam would be able to show everybody who didn’t believe in him, bullied him, ignored him and ridiculed him that he was better than them and had _much_ more promising things ahead of them than they ever would.

Liam didn’t really see it that way, though. At least, not completely.

“Like yeah, it’ll be cool to kinda go _hey arseholes, look how much further I’ve gone in life than you ever will,_ but it’ll also be nice to show everybody that it _is_ possible to do what you love, no matter what kind of adversaries you face throughout your life,” he told them a few hours before when they’d first gotten into the van, seemingly unable to repress the urge to get the words off his chest. “Like, maybe some of the younger kids will be inspired by it because we’re from the same hometown and it shows that it’s possible.”

“You need to learn how to not be so nice all the time,” Louis had complained, punching his friend in the arm and Liam had just flushed pink and shaken his head, the smallest smile crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

It was just Louis and Harry awake in the van then, Zayn having drifted off after celebrating the fact that he was going to slap Louis on stage as an entertainment factor. Louis had begun to card his fingers gently through Harry’s hair, and the curly-headed boy relaxed into him and murmured out a small, “Love you, Lou.”

The boy had already drifted off by the time Louis had collected himself enough to respond, electricity racing through his fingertips, and he whispered back, “I love you so much, Harry.”

\--

The moment they arrived outside the gates to Louis’ old nightmare school of Hall Cross in Doncaster, Louis felt like his insides were about to explode from the volume of the screams sounding from the other side of the closed van doors.

He was sure that his fellow bandmates had been expecting the same as him – maybe a few dozen fans and some overexcited teens who just wanted to get a piece of action on a boring snowy Tuesday in a usually quiet place. Harry made a sound of awe as he peered out of the window and looked over the people jumping and shouting and waving signs, concluding that there must’ve been at _least_ two hundred people there. They were wearing the boys’ names and faces on their shirts and arms, grinning like mad-people, and Harry couldn’t help but agree with Zayn’s uttered _holy shit, what the fuck?_

“This is fucking insane,” Niall breathed, and nobody else could really muster the ability to say anything in response as the stepped out of the van. After a little over three hours in a stuffy vehicle hurtling down the highway, the freezing winds were a welcome addition against the exposed parts of Louis’ skin, making him shiver and smile as his cheeks flushed red with warmth.

The absolute and unforgiving _mass_ of people surrounding them on all sides, calling out for them to sign things and such was almost too much for the boys, all of them frozen in wonder and glee and, okay, admittedly boosted egos before their security came and pushed them along, shoving them all close together and blocking them off from any fans that tried to get too close. Louis felt guilty over it, wanting nothing more than to stop by each person and sign whatever they asked him too, but conceded to one of the security member’s gentle hand on the small of his back encouraging him forward. He and the boys still managed to fit in some pauses to sign posters and arms and pose for quick pictures with fans before they were ushered forward, calling out goodbyes to the crying people behind them.

Their security team lead the boys inside and towards the auditorium, closing and locking the backstage door behind the last of their group. The chanting was still audible from inside, echoing clearly in the hallway as one loud noise shouting _One Direction, One Direction, One Direction._

“We’re not even singing and they’re shoutin’ for us,” Zayn hissed, eyes wide in disbelief and grin so bright on his face that his eyes were crinkling in the corners. Louis copied the grin and clapped his best-friend on the back, offering a wink.

“Yeah babes, we’re proper famous now,” Harry called from where he was standing with Niall and Liam, the two of them looking overwhelmed with joy and fright at the same time. Louis would’ve gone over and drawn them all into a group embrace if he hadn’t been entranced by Harry’s flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and shy smile and lowered eyelashes.

It must’ve been the adrenaline making Harry look like that, but Louis couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at the direct memory of the night they’d almost kissed.

Louis honestly thought he was going to go entirely deaf as he and the boys took to the stage, the volume of their microphones not even remotely loud enough for them to be properly heard over the screaming crowd. The gentle encouragement to continue voting for them didn’t seem necessary, really, so Louis completely skipped over it and lead the boys headfirst into their thanks for the endless support they’d been receiving, and Louis knew he couldn’t’ve been the only one of the band tearing up slightly as the crowd yelled back at him, all happy and jumping and exhilarated in the freezing air of Doncaster.

“We love you, Donny!” He shouted to close off their visit, the boys backing off stage in such a manner that clearly portrayed their lack of desire to do. They all felt high as they tumbled together, laughing and handing back their microphones to the assistants clumsily, too caught up in each other and the adrenaline rush to really think about limb coordination.

“Lou Lou!” Came the high-pitched voice of a small girl as the boys reached the proper backstage area, and Louis was almost knocked off his feet as a tiny figure crashed into him and immediately locked their legs around his waist.

“Well, hello there, little miss Daisy,” Louis coughed, grinning and laughing as he held the first of the twins close to his chest, regaining his balance in time for a clone of Daisy – Phoebe, obviously – to run up and wrap her arms around his legs. “And you too, of course, Phoebes. My two best girls.”

The boys had moved off to the side to watch the reunion with fond eyes, and Louis didn’t need to see properly to know that Harry wanted nothing more than to hold one of the twins. The youngest member of the band had been absolute smitten for Louis’ youngest sisters since the first day Louis had showed his bandmates a picture of them and had _teared up_ at how small they were.

_“They’re so tiny, Lou, oh my god,” Harry had whispered, zooming in on Daisy and Phoebe each in turn in the photo Louis had showed them._

_“Want one, Haz?”_

_“Yes. I want a child, Lewis.”_

“Hazza, c’mere and take Phoebe, would ya?” Louis called over as a request, smiling and planting messy kisses all over Daisy’s face, making her squeal and bat at his face as a way of protest. “I don’t wanna stand on her little toes, y’know? I think Lottie would skin me alive with a cheese grater.”

“You bet your ass I would,” came Lottie’s voice as she appeared in view and Daisy squeaked out a _is Harry here?_ Louis shushed her gently, grinning and a little teary eyed at Lottie as she ran up and crashed into Louis’ arms wrapped around his whole waist. “You’re even more like an hourglass than you used to be,” she complained into his neck, making Louis snort as his sister felt up his curves. “S’unfair.”

“S’just my genetics, love,” Louis teased, his free hand around her waist. Harry had made his way over at that point, crouching down where Phoebe was still clinging to Louis’ legs, watching Harry with wide and nervous eyes.

“Hey Phoebe,” Harry started in a small voice, smile so wide his dimples were popping. “Louis talks about you all the time. He always says you’re like a little version of him.”

Phoebe giggled, letting go of Louis’ legs to move over to Harry and poke at his dimple. “You’re Harry,” she stated simply, smiling a toothy smile. “Mum tells us about you. Louis doesn’t stop talking about you, either. You’re very pretty. I wanna touch your hair.”

Harry blushed, grin widening even further and making Louis literally want to cry his eyes out as Phoebe voluntarily went to the curly-headed boy and let him pick her up, holding her close to his chest. Harry with kids – let alone Louis’ baby sisters – was _too fucking much_ for him to handle.

“I don’t think I’m as pretty as you,” Harry said playfully, completely unaware of Louis actually dying inside, poking Phoebe’s nose and making her giggle again. “You could be a princess, especially with his hair. Everybody in the world would love you.”

It was the sweetest little conversation that had Louis, with his heart beating in his chest erratically, instinctively clutching Daisy closer and smiling into Lottie’s hair, before his sister drew back, eyebrow raised and somewhat accusatory.

“So,” she started, grinning mischievously as she looked Harry up and down – blatantly checking him out. “You’re the mysterious Harry Styles that my brother has become borderline-fangirl-level-obsessed with these last few months.” She broke off, looking contemplative and ignoring the spluttered protest from her eldest sibling. “I can’t say I blame him. You _are_ very pretty.”

“Don’t make a move on him,” Zayn warned as he, Niall and Liam moved up closer, smiling like morons, Harry stuttering where he was standing. “He only has eyes for Louis. I don’t think you hitting on him would end in very much more than heartbreak.”

Lottie laughed, shaking her head at Zayn and rolling her eyes as Louis and Harry flushed bright red in turn, still holding the twins and studiously avoiding looking at each other.

“Believe me, I know.” She held out her fist to Zayn and he bumped it with his own immediately, offering his own rolled eyes and introducing himself as Louis flipped her the bird from where neither of the twins could see. He may have been extremely unfiltered, but he wasn’t about to pollute his baby sisters’ minds when they were still tiny and innocent as could be.

“I also know that,” Lottie revealed cockily after Zayn told her his name, offering a fist bump to Niall and Liam in turn. “And I _also_ know the bleached blonde is Niall and this guy with the mop on his head is Liam. Louis calls you Lima on the phone, though. Says it annoys you, so it’s like, I dunno, a habit for him so he can practice annoying you with it or summat.” She paused, gaze sparkling with humour that Louis loved. “I’m not as cruel as my brother, though, so I’ll spare you that pain.”

“I think you’ve automatically claimed the role of my favourite Tomlinson,” Liam said with a cheeky grin and Lottie punched his shoulder, eyes crinkling in the corners with how wide her smile was.

“Of course I’m your favourite,” she bragged, swiping away imaginary dust on her shoulders and making Louis chuckle into Daisy’s hair. “Any other option is unacceptable. Except for mum. She’s great. Jay Deakins supremacy, honestly.”

Louis cut in before the banter could continue, shifting Daisy so she was seated on his hip, the little girl watching his four other bandmates closely and curiously. “Speaking of which, where _is_ mum? And are Fizzy and Stan here, too? I wanted to see them before we leave and I know Stan just got back here from London a day or so ago, so.”

Lottie nodded quickly, grinning like an idiot and gesturing somewhere behind herself. “Mum got caught up talking to Stan. He’s probably flirting with her again. Your best friend definitely has a thing for older women, the creep.”

“Hey, that’s one of my best friends. You’d do good to shut your mouth.”

“Louis!” Daisy squeaked in reprimand, smacking her older brother over the head and making Niall laugh so hard he looked like he couldn’t breathe properly where he was doubled over next to Lottie, Lottie joining in with the laughter. Louis had a feeling they’d get on too well. “Don’t swear.”

Louis rolled his eyes, clucking his tongue and ruffling up Daisy’s hair. “I didn’t swear, Daisy my dear. I don’t let myself curse around you and Phoebes.”

“Phoebe just said that’s not true,” Harry chimed in with a ridiculously fond smile on his face, making Louis flush pink in the cheeks and scratch at the back of his neck, trying to suppress his smile. He didn’t respond, and that must’ve been indicator enough.

“Louis William Tomlinson,” came a voice from nearby and Louis almost imploded with happiness at the sight of his mother parading Fizzy and Stan towards them, the oldest Tomlinson sibling passing Daisy off to Lottie without much thought and throwing himself at his mother.

“Mum,” he sighed happily into the embrace, hiding his smile in his mum’s neck as Jay laughed and hugged him back tightly, making him feel all warm and cosy.

“Hi darling,” Jay cooed, running a hand over his back soothingly before pulling back far too soon for Louis to cope with, considering he was thinking of just ditching the band and never leaving Doncaster again. Having his mother with him after so long apart was doing things to his brain that he could never hope to comprehend, and Louis would rather die than be thrust out of the moment.

Stan and Fizzy stood nearby, watching with identical grins on their faces. “You boys looked incredible up on stage,” Jay said, gesturing with one hand to the rest of the boys before drawing her gaze almost sadly back to her son, looking him up and down with a slight pout. “You’ve all gotten taller, too. I liked it when I didn’t have to look up at all of you.”

Zayn chuckled, coming over and hugging Jay briefly before stepping back. “Except for your son, I’m afraid. He’s still tiny.”

“I’m not tiny!” Louis protested as Liam and Niall also came up to hug Jay, Harry and Lottie still with the twins in arm approaching and whispering to each other. Jay had been the first of the mothers to see the boys as a group when they’d first been formed, and all of them had been instantly drawn to her as a parental figure, quickly making her favourite. Louis hadn’t been surprised – everybody who ever met her loved his mother.

“Yes you are,” Harry said, smiling fondly as he walked over, Phoebe perched on his hip with her face buried in his neck. Louis scoffed, looking at Harry with what he hoped translated to betrayal, and Harry merely grinned and winked at him, shaking out his curls.

Jay raised a surprised eyebrow at the sight of the boy clutching one of her youngest daughters and Harry flushed bright red in embarrassment, shrugging with one shoulder and averting his eyes.

“I see young Harry has taken a liking to all of my babies,” Jay commented with a reassuring smile, brushing past her own son to take Harry into her arms, careful not to bump the almost-asleep Phoebe. Harry hugged back with his free arm, posture visibly relaxing as he smiled.

“Your children are all too wonderful to not love,” Harry mumbled, sounding like an admittance. “They’re all lovely. I’m very lucky to be able to call one of them my best-friend.”

Louis was too busy blushing like an idiot and completely ignoring his bandmates to notice Fizzy running towards him with a surprisingly happy smile on her face.

“You really are still tiny,” She pointed out as she thrust herself into Louis’ arms, making the older boy stumble and squawk in surprise, hugging back just to stabilise himself (and also because he might’ve loved his sister. Maybe.)

Stan guffawed on his way over, slapping Louis over the back of the head and saying in a sarcastic turn, “Hello, Mr Justin Bieber. I didn’t know my best-friend was a famous arse now. Kind of disappointing.”

“Shut up, idiot,” Louis sniffed through watery eyes as he yanked Stan into the hug, making the boy yelp out a short laugh and accidentally clip Fizzy in the jaw with his hand.

\--

There were only a few more minutes after that of Louis’ bandmates bonding with his people from home – Niall and Stan were already ridiculously close and had successfully given Liam and Zayn about seventy heart attacks within five minutes – before there were teary hugs of goodbye between everybody, Louis feeling his heart actually combust in his chest as Jay took Harry into her arms for longer than she’d done to her own son and Phoebe withdrew one of her pink hairclips and clipped it into the younger boy’s curls.

Louis had forced himself to pull away from Lottie’s arms before he’d begged the crew just to let him stay back.

But in present time - -

“Holmes Chapel!” Zayn excitedly announced as he spied the _welcome_ sign to the town out of the van window, a beautifully aesthetic - - _village_ for lack of a better word appearing distantly.

“Home,” Harry sighed happily, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of Louis’ neck where the younger boy had buried himself during the drive.

Louis just held him close, smiling with his cheek pressed against the window.

Once the van had been parked up outside the front of a little house – _Harry’s_ house, Louis reminded himself, feeling a little shaken up that he was actually _seeing_ the boy’s house after the two of them talking about it during late nights where they couldn’t sleep – on possibly the quietest street Louis had ever been on, the boys received an real _police escort_ all the way to the front door so that the hoards of people outside wouldn’t trample them all to death, like they’d done to the neighbours’ flowerbeds and freshly planted saplings.

Liam held open the door – ever the gentleman – while the other four boys filed inside, Harry in the lead and Louis right behind him with a reassuring hand on the boy’s waist.

The little hallway from the front door seemed to literally be a trip down memory lane, picture frames hanging up on all sides and angles so that they could all fit. Louis found himself immediately drawn to the ones closest to the door – ones of Harry’s parents (or so he presumed) which made his heart clench considering the recent divorce Harry had admitted to him, and then ones of two little kids looking barely older than two or three.

 _Harry and Gemma,_ Louis realised with a start, smiling as he paused beside one of the photos with the two kids all bundled up in snow gear and drowning outside in the white drifts, using his hand to wipe away a layer of dust that coated it.

“Mum kinda always wanted the hallway to be a mural,” Harry explained in a soft and embarrassed voice, coming up beside Louis and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “The ones closest to the door are the oldest, and the ones nearest to the living room are the most recent. It’s like a timeline.”

“I love it, Hazza,” Louis murmured, and he heard the three other boys in the hallway mumble their agreements, each hung up on their own photo. It was honestly magical, being able to literally _see_ the people who lived in the house grow up with each step the band took down the hallway.

“I think this one is my favourite,” Niall commented with a cheeky grin on his face, pointing wildly at one of a younger, barely pubescent Harry with his shirt off and almost being drowned by Gemma in a pool.

“Shut up, Niall.”

“Nah, mate, it’s truly a work of art. I’m looking forward to meeting this diva sister of yours.”

“I absolutely hate you.”

Louis paused again nearer to the end, grinning like an idiot as he gestured to a photo of what was obviously a fourteen-or-fifteen-year-old Harry being given a piggy-back ride by a girl who looked to be of the same age with red streaks in her dark brown hair.

“I’m assuming this is the renowned Katie?” He asked, feeling warmth tingling in his chest at the pure elation on the younger version of Harry’s face. It was just so _refreshing_ to know that Harry was loved before he met the band – not that Louis ever _needed_ reassurance that it was the case. It was… _Nice._

Harry laughed, music to Louis’ ears, and smiled as bright as the sun. “Yep, that’s her. I promised you she knows how to be nice, and here’s proof.”

Eventually, after picking their way through the hallway, Harry lead the boys around the corner and into the kitchen, where they’re welcomed by the _welcome home_ shouts from a crowd of people holding champagne bottles and those weird confetti poppers that made the loudest sounds possible. Harry jerked at the sudden noise, instinctively going to clutch at Louis’ shirt before he realised his surroundings and broke out into a wide smile, biting at his bottom lip like he always did when he got nervous.

Louis tried to shove away the feeling of - - of _darkness_ in his mind at Harry’s violent flinch in response to the loud noises. He’d question him later.

In that moment though, it was time for happiness and drunken stupidity before they had to be on their way again.

The crowd of people is just a whole mix of Harry’s closest family – his mother and stepfather, of course, followed quickly by a few uncles and aunts and proceeded by two boys who looked like they spent far too much time getting high in libraries while trying to work. Louis would know.

The boys introduced themselves as Jonny and Tom, two of Harry’s closest friends from Holmes Chapel. They’d all gone to school together since they were ten and eleven, so they knew each other ridiculously well. Jonny was quiet but funny when he chose to speak up and Tom was boisterous and unmatched with his energy levels, clapping Harry on the back roughly as they broke apart from their embrace, Harry already looking like he was going to cry.

“We’ll come grab ya later, yeah mate?” Jonny said to Harry, all quiet and slow, his voice somehow the perfect balance of sweet and thick. Harry was nodding like one of those bobble-heads that people stuck in their cars, ruffling up Johnny’s hair and smacking Tom over the back of his head before boding them a temporary farewell.

The two boys approached Harry’s bandmates with identical smiles on their faces as they shook hands with everybody, Tom standing up on his tiptoes to whisper something to Niall that sent the blonde into such a violent fit of laughter that he started crying halfway through.

Louis wasn’t necessarily a forward person, but if he’d been drunk enough and at a proper frat party in America or something, he was sure he’d hook up with Jonny purely because of his voice. Not that he’d ever voice that aloud, because, like, he’d literally pretended that some random guy in a club sucking him off had been his curly bandmate, and… Yeah.

He needed to get drunk – or at least mildly intoxicated – so he’d stop thinking.

Louis knew his eyes were welling up without his permission as he saw an older women and man capture Harry in their arms, somehow knowing that they were Anne and Robin, the curly-headed boy’s mother and stepfather. Harry wasn’t much better than Louis, though, almost entirely breaking down the moment Anne stroked her hand through his unruly hair and made a comment on how he needed to take better care of it while he wasn’t a home.

“Kinda emotional, innit?” Liam whispered in Louis’ ear, startling Louis into jumping with a surprised yelp and almost smacking Zayn in the face.

“What?”

“Emotional, seein’ them reunite,” his bandmate clarified, Zayn cursing under his breath to the side at the near miss Louis’ hand had had with colliding with the boy’s face. “Hazza always talks ‘bout his family. Kinda just makes me realise how important this is for him, y’know?”

Louis didn’t trust himself to give a verbal response, instead clearing his throat and making a vague gesture with his head that could’ve meant anything that Liam somehow managed to understand as an agreeing gesture.

“Where’s Gems at?” Louis heard Harry ask his mother and stepfather, sounding confused.

Anne made a gentle noise in the back of her throat, letting Robin respond. “She got stuck in traffic coming back here with a friend ‘cause of the snow,” Harry’s stepfather explained in a soft and deep voice, reassuringly father-like. “She texted earlier to let us know that she’ll be here in around forty-five minutes.”

Louis tried to ignore the faint slump in Harry’s shoulders at the words. It was obvious the boy had wanted to see his sister as soon as they’d stepped foot back in his house and having that delayed even for a moment must’ve felt a little torturous.

“And these are the same boys from the day the band was formed?” Anne questioned after a few moments as she and Robin drew back from Harry, the boy making an affronted noise in the back of his throat and pressing himself into his stepfather’s side almost subconsciously. It was too endearing to Louis to bear, honestly, so he just blinked fiercely and shrugged at Anne, looking at the floor.

“You’re all so much taller already,” the woman continued, pouting as she moved over and took Louis into her reassuring arms, Louis’ own looping around her waist on instinct.

“Except for me,” Louis mumbled, voice muffled by Anne’s hair – he’d always been taller than her, even if it was only by a fraction – but not quietened enough to completely cancel it out.

Harry’s mother laughed into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly to her body and whispering in his ear a soft, “Thank you for looking after my baby,” that definitely had Louis fighting back a waterfall of tears as he pulled away from the hug, barely able to muster a nod and watery smile in response.

“He deserves the world, Mrs Styles,” Louis told her when his voice came back to him, still sounding choked up and emotional. “Of course I’d look after him.”

Louis didn’t miss the sniffle that came from Harry’s direction as the boy’s mother shook her head, affectionate expression on her features. “Please, Louis, call me Anne. That goes for all of you boys.”

Louis couldn't fight off his smile. “Anne, then. Thank _you_ for encouraging your dumb-yet-incredible-and-irreplaceable son to go on a show he never planned on auditioning for, because otherwise we’d be missing a limb in this band.”

Anne smiled and stroked over his arm with her hand reassuringly before she moved on to the rest of his bandmates, talking to each of them like they were old friends instead of only having met a few times. Robin followed her lead, Harry still tucked firmly into his side as the man shook hands with all of the boys in turn, saving Louis for last.

Much to Louis’ surprise, Harry dragged him into a hug with the boy and his stepfather, making Louis issue another weird sound of shock as he hugged back tentatively. Robin let out that classic booming-father laugh that made Louis flush with embarrassment and bite at his lip, feeling Harry’s hand in his hair.

“Thank you for looking after my kid, son,” Robin said warmly as he drew back, smiling at Louis. Louis couldn’t find it within himself to respond, only nodding dumbfoundedly before moving back to Zayn’s side, rolling his eyes at the taunting _how’sit meetin’ the boyfriend’s parents?_ from the Bradford boy.

“Oh, fucking _hell_ Thomas, where’s the decent alcohol?” A faux-angry feminine voice shouted from deeper in the kitchen, making Liam jump with surprise where he was stood next to Louis. “I didn’t text you at five in the damn morning for you to promptly _ignore_ me. Rude dickhead. S’last time I have your contact info as ‘Thomas Edison Junior’, that’s for sure. _No,_ I will _not_ be letting you choose your new one. I hate you.”

Anne sighed from where she was standing after having embraced Niall, trying and failing to look condescending at her son.

“Here comes the fireworks,” the woman announced melodramatically, making all of the boys – including Robin, who had an all-knowing grin on his face, glasses perched on his nose – except for Harry snort, the curly boy just eyeing his mother with a small pout.

“She’s just… Flamboyant, dearest mother,” Harry protested, but he was failing to bite back a smile as he continued talking. “Not a train-wreck.”

“I know, love,” Anne responded affectionately. “I was just teasing you. She’s basically my third child. Go say hello, or you’ll be impossible for your lovely band to deal with later on when you inevitably depart.”

“Jonny has it? Go fetch him. He’s probably in Hazza’s room again, the bastard. You already checked up there? Well, _shit,_ man, I dunno. Maybe he’s up on the roof.” There was that voice again, and Louis found himself hiding his smile in Zayn’s shoulder.

“Speak of the devil… Harry!”

Suddenly, Robin was ducking off to the side like it was instinct and there was somebody throwing themselves at Harry, the boy picking them up like it was second nature with a wild grin on his face and a flush on his cheeks, drying tear-trails there like he’d been silently crying into his stepfather’s arms.

They spun for a moment in place before Harry put the person down, their shoulder-length hair all messy and wavy with dark green streaks it in that Louis dearly wanted to braid.

“Hi Katie,” Harry beamed, looking like was about to cry again as the person – Katie, the girl who was Harry’s closest friend from home – grinned and punched him in the arm, and Louis only just took notice of the full shots glass the girl was holding precariously in one hand like it was second nature being picked up and spun while holding alcoholic drinks. Perhaps it was, and if Katie was as much of a party animal as that singular gesture suggested, Louis wanted to be her friend. Period.

“Jesus, popstar, you’ve gotten everybody gathered out of your own selfishness,” she complained at the same time as her free hand ruffled Harry’s curls up, tone blatantly sarcastic as she knocked back half of what was in the glass she was holding. “How _dare_ you? I feel completely violated and _ignored._ What happened to my real best friend, huh? The one who called me at three in the morning everyday just to make sure I’d gotten home from wherever I’d undoubtedly been and _also_ the one who, coincidentally, was always the one who used to almost got kidnapped when we’d be blackout drunk. Where’s that best friend?”

Louis half expected Harry to flinch, offended, but instead Harry was laughing so hard he collapsed into Katie, making the girl shriek and quickly move her shots glass out of the way so she didn’t drop it and glass shards flew everywhere.

Katie finally took notice of the four other boys in the area, smacking Harry away while the two of them absolutely lost their shit laughing.

“These your boys, then?” The girl rasped after struggling to catch her breath, setting the shots glass down on the nearest ledge before stumbling over to the group with a wild grin on her face.

“You must be Louis,” she started with a cheeky tone in her voice, looking Louis up and down with a mischievous glint in her eyes that Louis would probably be more nervous about if he didn’t already like this girl as much as he did.

“Who else would I be?” He responded cockily, and Katie laughed as she clapped him over the back of the head and yanked him into a fierce hug, almost entirely unbalancing him and sending them both crashing to the floor.

“Harry didn’t lie – you do have a very nice arse,” the girl commented offhandedly, pulling back from their embrace with a grin on her face as she smacked Louis’ bum without warning. Louis cackled, immediately drawn to her no-boundaries-at-all behaviour like a moth to a flame – something he matched on a daily basis. “And this _hourglass figure,_ oh my. I think I’d die to be as curvy as you, honestly. Harold, I may just have to steal your boyfriend.”

“Funny, my sisters always say the same thing,” he replied, cheekily yanking at a stray strand of her hair and making her snort like he was the funniest person in the world, promptly ignoring her boyfriend line while Harry spluttered out a breathless _not my boyfriend,_ to which Katie just responded by flipping Harry the bird and a whined _let me have my fun, Harold. You love me no matter what._ Harry didn’t respond, which was a key substitute in Harry language for _yeah, you’re right,_ and Katie just chuckled like she knew that, too (which she definitely did). 

Louis was definitely going to get along well with her.

They had a few hours to mingle with everybody, so after Katie was done with her greetings with the boys (Louis eyebrows raised so far up they must’ve brushed his hairline when the girl lingered with Zayn, smoothly flirting in such a way that had the Bradford boy blushing crimson like a little kid), she promptly grabbed Harry and Louis by the shirt collars and dragged them both towards the staircase in the next hallway over from the entrance one.

Harry must’ve known exactly what she was doing to contrast Louis’ utter cluelessness, because he began to struggle against her freakishly strong grip with noises of protest.

“No, _Katie,”_ the boy whined pathetically, pawing at her arm in a useless attempt to get her to let go. “Stop it, I swear, s’gonna be embarrassing. Besides, I can’t just ditch my bandmates.”

Katie paused for a moment, contemplating before she let go of their collars, telling Louis to make sure Harry didn’t sneak off while she went and fetched Zayn, Liam and Niall.

The girl returned with the three boys in tow, all of them looking a little disoriented and bewildered. She gripped Harry’s hand once more and slid past Louis to take the lead, almost dragging the boy upstairs. Louis shared a slightly incredulous look with Zayn, who just shrugged and gestured for Louis to follow the girl.

Liam spoke up as they continued to climb, interrupting Harry and Katie’s playful bickering. “Mind if I ask what exactly what’s happening?” He fretted, confused. “Is it illegal? Because like, Harry’s parents _like_ me and the boys, and I don’t wanna wreck that.”

Katie sighed melodramatically, her grip on Harry’s hand visibly loosening as she fought back a smile. “Liam, I’m basically their third kid and I’ve been arrested five times. _Five._ They still love me. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Louis looked up at Harry, a little wide-eyed and taken aback as he heard Niall guffaw from somewhere below on the staircase.

Harry just shrugged, saying, “It’s true. She’s their favourite, even if none of them will ever admit it except for her. It really boosts her ego. A little _too_ much, in my opinion.”

The oldest member of the band honestly couldn’t be more attached to a girl he’d only met a few minutes ago than he was now, and the thought sent him laughing as Katie yanked herself and Harry up the final three stairs and on to the first part of the landing, the other boys following close behind.

“Okay boys, get to your feet,” Katie declared with a loud clap of her hands that echoed down the staircase, and Louis found himself giggling as he complied and helped tug Zayn to his feet, Liam and Niall coming up to stand beside them in the mildly claustrophobic hallway. Louis spied Niall trying to hide in Liam’s side and felt a jolt of guilt in his chest at the notion, trying and failing to push it away. He’d forgotten the blonde was afraid of small spaces, and that made him feel like a terrible friend.

“ _Katie,”_ Harry whined, pouting as he reached up to hit Katie on the shoulder. “Can we not? Please? You do this every time somebody new comes over and you’re here.”

The girl in question scoffed, watching her best-friend with wide eyes as she tapped him on the chin with two fingers, and Louis realised that she was softening a little around the edges, like - -

Like she was making sure Harry was alright with whatever she had planned. Louis sighed a little breath of relief at that realisation, honestly, and the way Katie was giving Harry the most blindingly reassuring smile of all time. He felt Zayn press closer into his side and he elbowed his friend gently, making Zayn pinch the soft skin of his waist in retaliation.

Harry nodded just once, and Katie’s bravado energy was back at the confirmation of Harry’s consent. “Right this way, through the door, and you’ll find yourself stuck in a past Harry Styles never wanted to revisit.”

Louis followed the girl through the first painted white door on his left, looking at the floor and waiting for his bandmates to join him before he moved back into the doorway and promptly froze, mouth dropping open a fraction as he absorbed where he was.

He was in Harry’s childhood bedroom.

“Oh my _god,”_ he exhaled, a little awed as he took in the room, posters covering every inch of spare wall space, Star Wars bedsheets still on the king single pressed against the wall underneath the ridiculously huge window with a nice little wooden nightstand beside it. The room was so _clean,_ empty of any extra clutter that Louis figured any kind of normal teenager would have, including himself. Hell, his room back in Doncaster was probably still a hellhole to weave through, what with his piles of random shit littered everywhere.

Liam, Niall and Zayn had similar awestruck expressions on their faces, Niall looking much more relaxed now that they were in a larger space, the blonde enthusiastically running his hands over what Louis assumed were his favourite posters.

“Stop it,” Harry mumbled, going to his bed, flopping back on it with a sigh and an arm over his eyes. Katie was watching him fondly, leaning against a human-sized poster of _The Beatles_ plastered on the door of Harry’s closet.

“I love it!” Louis exclaimed honestly, admiring all of the posters, not quite being able to bring himself to move out of the doorway. “Jesus, if I’d actually had enough work ethic back in Donny, this is literally what I would’ve wanted my room to look like. It’s _perfect._ ”

“Perfect room to hot box in,” Katie added unnecessarily, making Louis and Zayn snort and roll their eyes, the former flipping her off playfully as Liam muttered some half-arsed reprimand under his breath. Louis figured since it was just the six of them in the room that it wouldn’t be detrimental for him to go back to his usual gestures and colourful language choices, so letting himself relax wasn’t as scary as it might’ve been if he’d done so back down with everybody else. He promptly ignored Liam’s scolding, instead poking his tongue out like a kid and making Liam grudgingly snort in amusement. 

“Tom always makes fun of me for the posters,” Harry mumbled, shaking out his curls so they were splayed against the pillow like a halo. He still had his arm over his face, nose tucked into the inside of his elbow. “He thinks it’s a bit creepy for me to have so many different people on my wall. Says it makes me look a bit like a serial killer.”

Louis shook his head in disbelief, hearing a disgruntled noise from Niall across the room. 

”Nah, H. These posters are wicked,” Zayn reassured him quickly, grinning like an idiot as he spied the small Jay-Z poster tucked a third of the way behind another small sheet - a self-made Avril Lavigne one that made Louis roll his eyes fondly. Of course Harry had an Avril Lavigne poster that he’d made himself. _Of bloody course.  
_

Louis couldn’t really talk - his emo phase had lasted far too long to be alright. 

”You guys like them?” The curly headed boy asked, tentative. 

A chorus of _fuck yeahs_ rose up around the room, and Louis spied in the corner of his eye as Katie’s expression lit up like she’d seen the key to the universe’s hidden treasures (or something. Louis wasn’t good with similes or metaphors). 

It clicked in Louis’ brain in that moment. Katie hadn’t dragged them up into Harry’s old room for the hell of it - she’d done it to show him that he was loved.

Louis didn’t know what to do with that information. 

The six of them fooled around in Harry’s room for a little while longer, Katie and Zayn ending up in a fake wrestling match on the floor that ended with Zayn pinned on his stomach, hands behind his back and a devilishly grinning Katie pressing her knee down into the small of his back.

Louis’ note to self: never challenge Katelyn Salazaar to a fight. 

They played dumb games, eavesdropping on the party downstairs every now and then, before they were interrupted by the rough noise of somebody clearing their throat.

”Oi, dickheads,” Tom said by way of greeting, a wicked smirk on his face. Jonny was silent beside him, a bit fidgety and anxious looking, but Louis didn’t linger on it. He did notice Harry’s brows knit into a small frown at the realisation, though. 

“Sup, Thomas?” Katie asked, tone a little bitter as she glared at the boy - probably a repercussion he’d earned earlier from when she’d been yelling at him in the kitchen.

”Still salty, I see.” Tom must’ve noticed it.

Katie sniffed, pretending to be upset as she pouted. “Obviously. You don’t just move on from your friend ignoring your five-a.m texts.”

Harry snorted from where he was squished between Niall and Liam on the bed, the three of them more or less tangled together like vines. “Stop bickering for once,” the boy complained in a forced-whiny voice that made Louis’ heart jolt in his chest for _no fucking reason._ Jesus. “You two give me endless headaches.”

”They _are_ my headaches,” Jonny muttered from where he was leaning against the doorframe, and Louis instantly liked him better than he already did. Quiet, yet incredibly blunt and sarcastic. Brilliant. 

” _Anyway,”_ Tom cut in, sounding amused as he rolled his eyes and elbowed Jonny pointedly in the ribs. “We came up here to ask for help in kicking some more alc from the adults. Beer ‘n shit, maybe some more wine or summat. Who’s in?” 

Louis and Harry were the only two with their hands down as their companions raised their own, expressions ranging from worried to excited.

Tom eyed both boys with a hint of surprise in his gaze. “You sure, H? Usually you’d be down for that stuff. And Louis - you look rebellious.”

Louis snorted, rolling his eyes and rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. “I think we’re good, Tom. Thanks for the offer, though.”

”I can say with absolute certainty that you two are missing out,” Katie teased, but she appeared to be - - sympathetic? “But you do you, I guess.” 

Harry and Louis waved goodbye to their newfound friends and their best-friends, before the seven of them left. 

After Katie and the other boys had departed from the room (presumably to go sneak more drinks with Jonny and Tom), Harry slid to the floor and pressed himself between Louis’ knees, the younger boy’s back pressed against the bed frame as he sighed gently. He was all pliant and tranquil as Louis’ hands instinctively drifted to the boy’s curls, fingers threading through the thick mass of them easily in a combing fashion.

“I can basically taste how happy you are,” Louis commented after a few moments of silence, his fingers working gently through Harry’s hair and scratching against the boy’s scalp. Harry shuddered at the gesture, body going even more lax as Louis continued his motions.

Harry eventually hummed, slurring out his response. “S’nice to be back home after so long away. Good to see everybody. Especially mum and Robin and Katie.” He cut himself off, frowning a fraction as he finished. “And Gems, when she eventually gets back. I think she’d like you, too.”

Louis snorted, bashful and blushing. “Would she like the other boys?”

The younger of the two shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe. I dunno. Liam might be a little too uptight and centred for her, Zayn too street-ish. She’s a bit of a nerd, though, so I’m sure they’ll still get along. She’ll probably divulge Zayn in superhero knowledge and comics to the point that he combusts with excitement and joy.”

“And Niall?”

“She’ll probably like him _too_ much. He’s just her kind of funny, even if her type is generally, like, mysterious and quiet… like Zayn.” Louis didn’t need to see his friend’s face to know that he was smiling while biting his lip, probably thinking of how it would go to have his sister flirting with one or two of his best mates.

“Oh jeez, Katie _and_ Gemma hitting on Zayn?” Louis whistled in reply, making Harry giggle. “Poor guy won’t know what to do with all of the attention. He’s not used to many girls hitting on him first. Same with Niall if Gems hits on him, too. I doubt he’s gotten much action, either.”

Harry snorted, batting at Louis’ knee in a half-hearted reprimand. “Don’t be rude, Lou. They’re not total virgins.”

“Unlike you,” Louis gently reminded the boy with a cheeky grin tugging at his lips, and Harry made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sounded like some kind of protest.

“Shut up.”

“Just being honest, baby.” _Baby._

Harry froze momentarily at the word, taken aback. Louis - - Louis had probably meant it as a means of teasing, but that didn’t stop the younger of the two blushing like an idiot and leaning further back into Louis’ touch after he’d gotten past his initial shock at the use of the word.

Louis himself wasn’t even sure if it had been meant as a tease or not.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only noises being the music and loud voices from downstairs. Louis was still focusing on being overwhelming gentle and precise as he combed through Harry’s curls, scratching softly against his scalp in such a way that had Harry continuously squirming and relaxing and making little noises in the back of his throat that sent a flush up in Louis’ cheeks.

Harry broke the silence. “I think I’m gonna tell mum about us living together after the show.”

Louis felt his heart skip at least twenty beats in his chest as he inhaled sharply, fingers shaking as he continued to comb through the boy’s hair. Taking a small glance around the room, he confirmed that it was just him and Harry there and that nobody else had snuck back in, he fruitlessly tried to slow down his racing heart and scratched at Harry’s scalp to distract himself, barely registering the little shiver and moan from the younger boy.

To be entirely honest, Louis hadn’t been sure if Harry had even been serious about wanting to live with Louis after the show had finished. He’d thought maybe it had just been a heat-of-the-moment, adrenaline-infused-and-influenced decision, and he’d forgotten about it completely. They’d almost _kissed_ for fuck’s sake, and they hadn’t even _talked_ about it, hadn’t confronted it _once._

He whispered when he responded to Harry’s admission. “Where you being serious when you said you want us to live together?”

Louis didn’t need to see Harry’s face to sense his little frown. “Yeah, Lou, ‘course. Did you think I wasn’t?”

“I mean, kind of?” Louis half-laughed, tone wavering and unsure. “It was just, y’know, you were actin’ all weird and I thought it was just a heat of the moment thing, yeah? I was so happy though, when you asked. I want to live with you.” He had a feeling what he’d said didn’t make complete sense, but the happy humming noise from Harry was indicator enough that he’d understood.

Still, neither of them brought up the almost-kiss.

“I’ve been looking on some real estate sites,” Harry admitted after a few moments of silence, sounding mildly out of breath for no reason whatsoever. “We obviously won’t really know what we can afford until the show ends, but like, I’ve saved stuff from the internet that I like and gives me ideas for what I’d like to look for, personally. Of course, we’d have to be in agreement for it because I want you to be happy, but…” He trailed off, not really sure if he wanted to say anything else, so he just breathed out a little _yeah_ to finish.

“Haz, love, we need to talk about more than just those things,” Louis explained gently, as though he was talking to an animal and didn’t want to startle it into hiding from him. “I’m not an expert or anything on looking for places to stay, but I had a little browse before the show at housing for uni and there’s, like, a lot more that goes into it than just finding a place we like and throwing some cash at the lawyers and sellers.”

Harry went quiet for a moment or two, relaxing back into Louis’ grasp as the older boy resumed stroking through his hair delicately. “Like what, Lou?”

Louis took a deep breath, heart still thrumming away in his chest. “Like, uhm, picking a city. For example, do we both like London enough to live there for an extended period of time? And if yes, which neighbourhood in London? Is there anyone or anything we want to be closer to for convenience or emotional purposes? Will we need to install security systems or will that not be possible and we have to look for a place with security? What type of flat do we want? Like a one bedroom, two bedroom, a _studio,_ or something else? Are we getting insurance and if so, what for? That’s - - that’s just basic stuff, Haz. We don’t even have furniture for it. Plus, Hazza, Jesus Christ, you’re _sixteen._ Would I have to be your legal guardian because of you being underage, and what kind of procedure would that be? We don’t know how any of it works and how to go through it. There’s… There’s so much to go into this thing.”

Harry had begun fidgeting like he always did we he got excessively nervous, and Louis wanted to kick himself.

“We can still figure out it,” Louis whispered, soft and cautious. His hands were still working through Harry’s curls. “This doesn’t change much, Hazza. We just need to talk - - “

Harry held up a hand to cut him off, a strangely domineering gesture compared to the boy’s usually compliant and listening demeanour. Louis paused, more than a little concerned.

The younger boy began to talk.

“Obviously we _will_ , like, need to talk about it in more detail just so we know what we’re going into, but. Like. We’ve both said in the past like we like London, right? That’d we’d want to live there? That might’ve changed for you, again, why I agree with you and we should discuss it, but it hasn’t changed for me. I have no idea about a specific neighbourhood, but one closer to the main circuit of shops ‘n stuff would be preferable just because of the convenience factor. We can ask Simon about installing security cameras if it’s ever needed and about all the different insurance things we have to worry about. We could look for a place with three or four bedrooms, so we have a guest room or two if anybody ever needs to sleep over, or just, y’know, _wants_ to. Mum has some furniture she never uses, so we could use that to start us off and then we can figure it out from there. And - -“

Harry finally broke off to catch his breath, shaking his head and almost dislodging Louis’ fingers from his hair. Louis quickly rethreaded his fingers subconsciously, Harry going lax again as he sighed out his next words. “And with the guardian thing, we could talk to our parents about it, see what kind of legal stuff we have to go through – _if_ we even have to go through it. I promise we’ll get this all worked out.”

Louis was nothing less than awestruck and stunned beyond words. Harry - - Harry had already _thought_ about all of what the older boy had said without even realising it.

Thinking he was going to have a heart attack, Louis he leaned down and drew Harry into his arms. Harry giggled, leaning back into his grasp, knees pulling instinctively to his chest in an attempt to get even closer to Louis.

“We’re going to live together,” Louis breathed.

“If my mum says yes, and so does your mum,” Harry pointed out, but he sounded just as excited and overwhelmingly joyous as Louis, his smile so bright that his eyes were crinkling in the corners as though he was looking at the sun. “But yeah, we’re gonna live together.”

They sat there in silence for a little longer, Harry cradled in Louis’ arms, before Niall came and stumbled into the room to collect them and effectively broke the moment.

“Oi, cocksuckers, Katie wants - - oh _shit,_ sorry, did I interrupt?”

Louis shook his head, plainly amused as he drew back from where he’d been holding Harry, the latter blushing a delicate pink and bringing his knees up impossibly closer to his chest. “No, Niall,” Louis reassured through a grin, waving a dismissive hand as Niall opened his mouth again to apologise. “S’okay. What does Katie want?”

Looking a little lost for words as Niall soaked in the scene again, the blonde shook himself out with wide eyes and responded. “Well, s’not really Katie askin’, but she passed on the message t’me, so. _Anyway,_ Robin wants all of ya downstairs for a toast. Gemma is also apparently almost here, so yeah. That’s it. Now hurry y’ur asses up or I’ll drag you wit’ me.”

Harry craned his neck up to look at Louis with his beautiful green eyes, and Louis had to fight off the urge to run a gentle hand over the pale expanse of the boy’s exposed neck.

Instead, he forced himself to stand up off the bed, lending a hand to Harry to haul him to his feet, before they joined Niall at the top of the staircase, bickering all the way down as they returned to the main gathering.

\--

It was rowdy in the kitchen, at the least, entirely chaotic at the worst. Louis figured it was somewhere between those two rankings from where he was observing, perched on the kitchen counter with Zayn in his lap and Harry leaning against the edge of the counter beside them, hand on Louis’ thigh. Louis had been trying – and utterly, utterly failing – to keenly ignore the simple touch and the way it made his skin and abdomen _burn_ in response, so he was trying his best to stay engaged in conversation with Liam, Katie and Jonny, the four of them (well, more like three, considering Louis was barely focused) arguing over what was the best way to take vodka shots.

Zayn was watching the whole debacle with fond eyes, Tom and Niall sitting on the floor nearby and yelling their opinions whenever they saw fit, while Harry was just snorting and shaking his head, chiming in whenever he found it necessary and simultaneously tightening his hand on Louis’ thigh, almost managing to drive Louis _insane._

Almost.

After some ridiculous struggles to gain everybody’s attention (mainly diverted by Katie and Niall arguing with each other after the blonde had said something stupid about coffee), Robin eventually wrangled everyone into making a toast, the room falling silent.

“Harry, son, it’s wonderful to have you home after so long away,” the man announced, tone gentle yet commanding. “And the rest of your boys, too. It’s like you’re all family now, too.”

Louis clutched Zayn closer to his body, feeling a smile twitch at his lips. He glanced up and to his right to look at Harry, finding the boy already watching him with shiny eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Louis moved a hand to lace fingers with Harry’s that had been resting on the older boy’s thigh.

Harry squeezed his hand tight, and Louis squeezed back without looking away.

Robin lifted his glass of wine to the boys, smile on his face. “To _One Direction.”_

_—_

They had around half an hour left before they’d be shoved away back into the van, and the boys were taking advantage of the lack of cameras (there was only one instead of the usual dozen or so) and snatching as much alcohol as they could. Louis, Jonny and Zayn were already on their third glasses of champagne, Katie on her fourth red wine and Liam still barely on to his second. Niall and Tom had turned to the beer, having downed a can or two each, but Harry seemed entirely sober. Supposedly Gemma had arrived a bit earlier and Harry had run to greet her, but Louis had been too busy sneaking more drinks with Katie and Niall to be introduced to the girl himself.

Louis, fuzzy brained from the champagne and feeling like he was drifting in and out of real time, was watching Harry and Anne deep in conversation across the room on the plush sofa positioned in front of the television. He was trying to figure out whether Harry had told his mum about the plan if he and Louis living together, but Louis’ slight intoxication was definitely not helping in the slightest, completely dulling down his usually sharp senses. 

He jumped a little when there was the pressure of a hand on his arm. Apparently, the slight overload of champagne hadn’t completely broken his brain. He briefly wondered how Zayn and Johnny were handling it. 

”So,” started a girl with lavender-purple hair and the same green eyes as Harry, making Louis grin. “You must be the famous Louis Tomlinson.” 

”And _you_ must be the one and only Gemma Styles,” he shot back with a wink, and a dimple popped in her cheek as an answer. 

”Favourite superhero, go,” the girl demanded, entirely serious as she smirked at Louis’ surprised expression.

”Uhm,” he stuttered, thinking. “Probably Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Imagine bein’ all that.” 

Gemma examined him, looking his body up and down, before nodding approvingly. “I like your taste. You can stick around.” 

Louis had half a mind to ask her about her own favourite, to which Gemma just shook her head and snorted. “Steve Rogers, obviously. Or Thor. Incredible eye candy, if I do say so myself.”

Louis was about to laugh and agree wholeheartedly, before there was a tap on his other shoulder.

“Hi there,” Harry said, beaming at Louis with a sharp, concentrated shine in his eyes. “You look like you’ve hooked into the champagne nicely.”

They smiled brightly at each other - Louis a little more dopey because of the champagne- before Harry noticed Gemma’s hand on Louis’s other shoulder and he began to pout. “Back off, Gems.” 

”Who would’ve thought that you were crying in my arms earlier because you’ve missed me,” the girl sighed, smirking at her brother and ruffling up Louis’ hair. 

Harry ignored her and turned back to face Louis, who was actively restraining the urge to laugh. 

”So.”

_Oh._

”So?” Louis asked in a small voice, the champagne not even enough to damper down the little anxiety bug in the back of his brain. He shouldn’t have been so nervous over it - just two best mates moving in together. People did it all the time. Totally, totally normal. 

Harry broke him out of his daydreams. “Mum - - mum said, logically, it can’t happen right away after the show, just because of - - of everything involved. Which, uhm, makes sense.”

Breaking off to scratch the back of his neck, Harry inhaled sharply before he continued. “But, she said, uhm, she can help us with all the legal stuff about me being underaged, and she can help us look for flat options during the tour?”

Oh _fuck._ Louis had totally forgotten that they were going on the damn _X-Factor_ tour after the show’s season had finished. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t even really focus on that, instead focusing on the beautiful shine in Harry’s eyes and the pink flush of his cheeks.

”Seriously?” Louis slurred, delirious from the adrenaline and champagne in his veins.

Harry was smiling so wide his cheeks and facial muscles must have been aching. “Seriously,” he replied in an unsteady voice, leaning down the moment Louis moved up so they could clutch each other tightly.

Gemma made an incredulous noise from where she was standing, making the boys draw apart, hesitant in letting go off each other. Louis felt much too drunk in comparison to how many glasses he’d had. 

”I might just... Leave,” she concluded after a few moments of awkwardness, tucking a stray strand of lavender hair behind her ear before moving away, shaking her head in a motion of disbelief. 

“I - - I can’t believe it,” Harry breathed, collapsing back into Louis’ arms and letting the older boy hold him. “You’re moving in with me. We’re going to live together.” 

Louis knew his breath reeked of the champagne he’d consumed as he began to speak softly, but Harry didn’t seem to care, only relaxing more into the boy. 

”I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

\--

There were only around twenty minutes left of the party, Harry having fluttered off someplace with Johnny and Niall, Louis having managed to down an unhealthy amount of champagne _again,_ when Katie came and yanked him off the couch (almost tearing his arm from his socket in the process), dragging him back into the kitchen with her.

”You,” she said accusingly, poking her pointer finger in the middle of Louis’ chest. Louis had the strange instinct to giggle. “Are _far_ too tipsy off the champagne to drink any other shit. Especially considering you still have a whole fucking day ahead of you, Christ.” 

Rolling his eyes, Louis tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched sickeningly and the fuzziness behind his eyes and in his brain as he responded, voice slurred slightly. “Woulda thought you’d be the last person to care about how much I drink.” 

He yelped as Katie pinched the inside of his elbow harshly, snapping him a little more into the present (not really. He still couldn’t think or process properly, or like, anything). 

”I care very rarely, sure,” Katie said slowly, something like an admittance. “But I don’t want you to throw up on your lovely, lovely fans in Bradford or Wolverhampton, yeah?” 

She sounded far too serious to be herself, and Louis found himself scrutinising her.

”What?” Defensive, hands braced on her hips like a condescending mother. 

”You okay?”

”Yes, Louis, I’m completely fine. And _sober._ You, however, must be incredibly lightweight or have had more to drink than you remember, because you’re climbing steadily up the mountain of _drunk off your arse.”_

Pausing to breathe for a moment, Katie’s eyes softened as she noticed the little frown and soft pout on Louis’ face. She reached up to stroke a thumb over his shoulder before murmuring, “Stay here. Let me get you some cold water.” 

Louis did as she told him to, much too disoriented and confused to do much else. She returned within a few moments with a cold glass of water and passed it to him carefully, watching as he took a cautious sip as he focused on not smashing the fragile glass. 

“Y’know, Louis,” Katie started, taking a sip of the red wine swirling in her glass. Louis took another sip of the water, the cold swirling in his system and sharpening his senses enough so he didn’t feel like he was about to pass out, throw up, die, or all three simultaneously. “I don’t think you realise how much you really mean to him.”

Her words struck him more sober than he’d been the entire afternoon. Christ, he - -

She didn’t need to specify who she meant. They both knew automatically.

“I’m just his best-friend,” Louis protested in a low, raspy voice, fearful of putting too much pressure on his vocal chords in case they triggered some kind of not-sober reaction. Or something. “Nothing more. I - - I don’t know what you mean by saying I don’t know that.”

Katie shook her head, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “No, dumbarse. You’re not just his _best-friend. I_ hold that position, thank you very much. And because of that position, I know little Hazza better than anybody else – even his mum. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him openly love someone as much as he loves you, and _not_ as a friend. I promise.”

\--

After the already overwhelming day the boys had experienced, first at the school back in Doncaster and then at Harry’s family home in Holmes Chapel, the signing in Bradford is enough to send Louis hurtling towards the edge of the cliff named _reality._

Or, at least, he figured that was what was happening, because there was absolutely no chance in hell that there were hundreds of people at the HMV, screaming and chanting and crying the boys’ names to the freezing winds.

They were all stunned. No better way to put it. Zayn was jumpy and excited, Liam wide eyed and flushed in disbelief while Niall skipped around joyously and Harry charmed every person he passed with his air of - - of _love._ Louis, on the other hand, was stuttering and nervous and gentle with each fan who asked him to sign something, each person who asked for a photo, or _anything._ His only reassurance was that although they may have seemed nonchalant to the oblivious eye, his bandmates were also losing their minds. 

Like, actually losing their minds. They couldn’t ever hope to comprehend that kind of fame. _Ever._ Louis wasn’t even sure if he liked it or not, even though he loved each fan dearly and wanted to tell them all that he did. 

They were all a little heartbroken to be shuffled back into the van at the end of the scheduled hour of signings and Zayn had introduced the boys to his family, teary and soft, and Louis found himself promising a fan that _if they ever needed help, he would find a way to make them feel even a little better,_ because after everything Louis had handled throughout his life, he wanted to give joy to those who couldn’t have it themselves.

Being so loved by strangers perhaps wasn’t so bad after all. 

The energy from the legions of screaming fans back in Bradford had transferred to the boys themselves, joking around and playing dumb games and making each other laugh so hard they can’t breathe. Louis had almost forgotten about his unhealthy champagne intake back at Harry’s house. 

One of Simon’s close work colleagues (who revealed themselves to be Charlotte Musgrove, yet another important figure in the PR industry) called them when they were around half an hour out from Wolverhampton, Zayn dropping the phone on the floor of the van with a curse at the sudden vibrations and ringtone.

”Motherfucker,” he spat, fishing for the phone and throwing it over his head at Liam beside him. The boy caught it effortlessly, clicking the _accept call_ button and shifting the sound mode to speaker. 

”Simon wanted to tell you boys this himself, but he’s found himself locked away in yet another unnecessary PR meeting,” Charlotte explained in a kind voice, and Louis decided he liked her well enough for a PR employee. “So he asked me to tell you instead. This is _phenomenal._ No _X-Factor_ acts in the past have received this kind of traction.” She broke off, and Louis swore she was smiling on the other end of the phone. She hardly sounded older than twenty. 

“This is _huge._ Congratulations.” 

—

Zayn forgot to slap Louis during their Wolverhampton concert like they’d agreed after the water-bottle/lightsaber battle, but nobody can quite bring themselves to care with hundreds of roaring fans in front of them.

They couldn't process it. At _all._ It was all too much - all the screaming fans, or the cries of undying love and support, all the _attention._ Louis may have been quite an attention seeker as a child, but then - - then, he couldn’t even begin to understand how _huge_ it was. 

All of those people had taken time out of their lives for them. Lives with families and school and jobs and dumb parties where they could get high or drunk without consequence. They still took time out of their days, even if it meant they neglected some things, hundreds of little parts of their lives that they _gave up_ for five dumb boys who loved music. Maybe they’d missed family dinner, or their parents’ late return from work, or missed the welcome home of a new dog or cat. Maybe they’d missed these tiny, yet absolutely _fundamental_ and _significant_ things, just for Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan, and Liam Payne. Maybe they’d missed those things for the future of _One Direction._

It was a lot to think about. A lot to evaluate and consider and then eventually process. Louis just - - he wanted to shout or scream back at the crowd with all of his thanks and love and soul, but he couldn't. One, because he wouldn’t even be audible over the roar despite his microphone clutched in his sweaty palm, two, because he’s supposed to be fucking _singing,_ and three - - 

How do you even thank people for sacrificing parts of their lives for the future of five boys they don’t know? 

Louis didn’t know how. So he sang instead. 

—

They were finished. Bundled up and hustled back into the van taking them across the highways for the final time. Taking them back to London, where their nice bunks would be waiting for them, probably decorated with little gifts by the contestants who had gotten back to the _House_ early. 

It had all passed like a blur. 

Louis was curled up with Liam at one end of the first set of seats in the back, head on the younger boy’s chest while their ankles tangled together on the floor of the van. Zayn, Harry and Niall were somewhat mirroring them on the opposite side, Harry half on Zayn’s lap, half on Niall’s, with the two boys on the ends having their limbs locked together so they were all in contact.

Nobody had any energy to talk. It was just them and the sound of the van’s wheels rolling on tarmac. Louis was finding it rather therapeutic, letting his eyes begin to flutter closed, body relaxing and allowing a little sigh to escape from between his lips. Liam cooed like a parent and Louis squirmed, purposefully knocking their knees together painfully to make his friend shut up. It worked, even if Liam had to make himself choke to stifle his laughter. 

Niall had already fallen dead asleep on the other side, head resting in between Harry’s shoulder blades with his cheek pressed against the cool cotton of the curly boy’s sweater. It looked ridiculously comfortable through the one peaking eye Louis had forced open, and he snuggled closer to Liam subconsciously. 

Liam made a cautious sound in the back of his throat, like he wanted to say something and had forced himself not to.

Louis was almost asleep, anyway. It would hardly matter, and his head was aching a little, the champagne finally catching up with him. He’d most likely forget whatever conversation they were about to have. Perhaps he was a lightweight. “What?” He mumbled, voice all slurred. “Just say it.”

Liam relaxed, sighing from between his teeth. “Sorry,” he murmured, genuine. “I’ve - - um. Just been wondering something lately, never got a chance to ask… it’s about, uhm, what we talked about a while ago. When I woke you up.” 

That - - that had been weeks ago. Louis was shocked Liam remembered. His other three bandmates hadn’t been there, though, and Niall was asleep, so Louis was definitely on the receiving end of some sleepy confused looks.

”What about it?” He asked softly, voice shaky as he pulled at a loose thread on Liam’s jeans anxiously. “Christ, Li. It happened weeks ago. I thought you would have forgotten ‘bout it.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably, accidentally moving Louis into a weird position, too. The two of them reorganised themselves before the younger of the two responded.

”S’just like... You said you didn’t really want people to know, yeah? Or like, that’s what I was understanding.”

Louis nodded slowly, feeling Harry and Zayn’s eyes on him.

”Right, okay, so. Like... Hold on, wait, are you okay with me talking ‘bout this in front of the others?”

Louis held up a dismissive hand, forcing himself to laugh into Liam’s chest. “I don’t care, Li. I love them. I trust them.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Liam recollected himself before continuing on. “So like, if you didn’t want people to know you’re, um, Queer? Yeah?” He waited for Louis’ confirming nod before continuing, the both of them ignoring the way it had gone so quiet it seemed like nobody was breathing. “Yeah. If you didn’t want them to know that, why were you so nonchalant about the blowjob thing? S’just, like, been eating at me because I - - I don’t get it. M’sorry.” 

Louis didn’t think he could actually breathe properly, so he just held himself closer to Liam, trying to regulate his lungs. He couldn’t let himself panic.

”People fuck around with whoever,” Louis eventually muttered, shaky and uncertain, eyes pressed tightly closed. Liam held him tighter, arms firm and muscled. “Specially if it’s just a blowjob. Everybody’ll just think you wanted your dick wet instead of actually going to the assumption that you’re - - that you’re queer.” He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stop trembling as he finished off. “If I’d like, I dunno, been fucking a guy, it would’ve been more questionable, because I could’ve fucked a girl instead, y’know? And like, yeah that could be applied both ways, but you get my point, right? Like, I wouldn’t get hurt this way. I wouldn’t lose people.” 

There was a freakishly long stretch of silence following his words, and Louis just wanted to sink down into a hole and die. 

“Oh, Lou,” Harry eventually murmured, voice breaking. Louis couldn’t _breathe._ “I’m - - I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry you - - you thought you’d lose people because you’re gay.”

”Queer,” Louis corrected in a small voice. He couldn’t muster much more than that. 

Harry smiled reassuringly, achingly soft and gentle. “Queer, then. We love you so much. You’d never lose us.”

Louis’ heart was going to explode.

He - - He and Harry had held a conversation like it before, one night when Louis hadn’t been able to sleep and Harry hadn’t wanted to leave him awake on his own.

They’d gotten on to the top after Louis had started talking about how there were more gay bars in London than he’d originally thought, and Harry had laughed, all pretty and high-pitched and _soft._ They’d been a little drunk on the late night hour, and Harry had told Louis how he didn’t really _know_ if he liked boys or girls more, or if he only liked boys, and Louis had held him through it and whispered that he loved him, that he was safe, that no matter what, Louis would support him.

It had been a long time ago, one of the first nights they’d spent in the Bungalow, but Louis had kept it in his mind like a treasure.

Because, you know, Louis would’ve killed to have heard that from anybody he loved. 

”We support you,” Zayn told him quietly, snapping him back into the present, but Louis still didn’t look up. “We’ll support you ‘til the day we die, yeah? You got that? So what if you fuck and love guys instead of girls? It doesn’t matter. You’re still human.” 

They just talked for a little while after that, soft voices and gentle gestures and a few tears shed. Niall was still fast asleep on the seat, but Louis would explain later. He probably didn’t need to - Niall was Niall. He loved whoever he wanted to, and Louis was one of those lucky whoevers.

Louis fell asleep soon after, completely drained, his chest aching pleasantly and his mind swimming in love and pain all linked together by a heavy chain of repressed self-hatred. 

|||

_(December 8th)_

  
Harry had never really expected to fall for anybody. Like, ever. 

Sure, he’d dreamt of it, gentle fingers running through his hair to wake him up every morning, nights by a wood-lit fireplace with the television going on some show they can’t focus on because they’re too lost in each other’s eyes and lips and _everything.  
_

He considered it to be pretty normal. He was a hormonal teenager, for fuck’s sake - of course he was going to imagine what romantic, passionate love felt like. It was just a given.

He’d been a bit confused on the concept of love as a younger boy, his parents’ split not helping in the slightest. He hadn’t been able to distinguish the difference between friendship-love and romantic-relationship-love until he’d been... What, fourteen? Fifteen? Something ridiculous, and it was only because Katie had taken it upon herself to be his life teacher (even though she hadn’t necessarily been doing any better at the time). 

He’d thought for a while he was in love with Jonny. But that had been stupid, teenage angst that he’d created in his own mind just to make his emotions even more complicated to understand. Jonny had been his friend for forever, almost. It wouldn’t have made sense for it to have suddenly changed.

So, perhaps Harry was a tad naive when it came to the concept of being in love. 

But - - _but._

Romantic feelings were, like, _intense._ Like a crashing tidal wave, a tsunami of emotion, dragging you down and drowning you mercilessly. A feeling of _need_ so deep it aches in your bones, feeling like you’re walking a tightrope between life and death that’s about to snap with you still in the middle.

So Harry was pretty sure whatever he was feeling towards Louis _fucking_ Tomlinson wasn’t platonic. He’d - - he’d gotten off to the thought of the boy before, Jesus. It was so obviously _wrong_ and weird, but it didn’t change a single damn thing. 

And the stupid _almost_ kiss.

Harry had only kissed one person in that manner properly before. They’d been a girl when he was fifteen, the two of them just curious to know what it was like. Harry had loved it, and the girl had been sweet and caring. He sometimes wished they were still friends, or at least spoke. 

But the fact that he’d kissed some girl that he hadn’t even known very well and only ever _almost_ kissed the boy that had swarmed his mind and heart for the past few months was driving him mental. It was _unfair._

Louis, on the other hand, had always seemed cautious with Harry. Reserved. Like he was consciously keeping his emotions in check, not letting himself feel what Harry so dearly wanted him to feel. The older boy was getting around well enough (a thought that still sent Harry reeling and in the mood to throw up all over his nice sneakers), which was a pretty huge indicator that he wasn’t into Harry like that. The way that Harry wanted. _Needed._

And they were going to _live together._

Harry figured he was just digging himself a hole that would imminently collapse in on him while he was half-way down. A one way trip to heartbreak central, no extra charge. 

But Louis had _almost_ kissed him. He’d leaned _in._

That had to mean something, right?

Or maybe Harry should’ve just worked up enough nerve to kiss the shit out of Louis and figure out where they stood later. 

Well, perhaps not, if the way Louis was flirting hard enough with somebody that _wasn’t_ Harry that even Niall was getting awkward and jittery was a hint.

Perhaps everything Harry had considered beforehand about just working up the nerve to kiss Louis should've just been thrown out of the window.

Especially if said person Louis was flirting with was an older man called _Robbie fucking Williams._ You know, the Robbie Williams with a wife and children? That one.

And Louis was still all over him. _Fuck_ Harry, seriously, and fuck _Louis,_ too. 

Harry’s palms were beginning to slip with sweat on his microphone the longer the rehearsal lasted. He was bubbling over with anxiety and awkwardness and even some minuscule sliver of anger that he was valiantly trying to suppress. 

It was just - - they were singing with a legend, and Harry was _stressed._ Possibly in the midsts of one of his worst anxiety periods ever, because his usual form of stress relief in new and scary situations (Louis) was _preoccupied and flirting_ with the man causing Harry’s descent into panic in the first place. 

”Shouldn’t we run over that last riff again?” Liam suggested in a firm voice, making it seem like less of a suggestion and more of an order. “It’s sounding a bit rusty and unpracticed. We can do better than that, guys.”

Harry nodded shakily where he was standing, a hand nervously fiddling with the hem of his long-sleeved black tee, nails clicking together through the thin fabric. It was almost thin enough that his skin was showing, something Louis would usually be hung up on and tease Harry relentlessly for (while also looking like he was going to combust, cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour and eyes wide and sparkling).

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Harry - - he just needed a minute. A minute to get himself back together, because it was his responsibility to keep his anxiety under control, not Louis’. 

Harry refused to look at where Louis and Robbie were standing, just listening to them crack jokes back and forth and his heart giving an ugly and melodramatic pulse in his chest at the familiar sound of Louis’ rare-but-beautiful giggle.

See, usually Harry was the one who subconsciously flirted with older and attractive men - or even just attractive men in general. He didn’t even really know why, to be honest (of course he knew why, but it wasn’t like he was going to confront that particular thought), only that he’d go all flushed and nervous and dizzy and _clingy_ in a heartbeat if they played it right.

If they played _Harry_ right, really. 

So, naturally, it was a bit alarming that Louis was doing what Harry usually did, _especially_ when Louis was constantly the one to gently remove Harry from the situation and sit him down and make him nice iced mochas while they watched television to get Harry to come back down to Earth and out of his head. 

”Louis,” Zayn said sharply, snapping the boy out of his little bubble with Robbie. He bit at his bottom lip with a little frown on his face as he broke away from the older singer, but he still swiped a hand through his fringe and said through an exhale, “Shall we, lads?” 

Harry shouldn’t have been so affected by the intensity of Louis’ flirting. He knew that, but it didn’t actually _change_ how he was feeling about it. Sure, Louis was charming 24/7, able to flirt his way in and out of conversations without batting eyelid and causing flushed and flustered chaos in his wake. Harry had been victim to it on multiple occasions (and Louis hadn’t even been purposefully flirting, which just added to the problem). 

So why was he suddenly so bothered?

At their next break from rehearsals, Harry called over to Savan in a shaky voice that he was heading to the bathroom before he turned and speed-walked down the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Instead of going in, though, he sank to the floor beside the door, breathing harshly as he pressed his face into his palms.

Jesus, he knew he shouldn’t have been so overwhelmed by it all. It wasn’t Louis’ job to make sure he was okay, nor was it anybody else’s but his own. It was stupid that he had expected Louis to be glued to his side like usual when they were being confronted by the older boy’s childhood hero. 

It wasn’t his place to feel so angry that Louis’ attention wasn’t on him for once. It was childlike, inappropriate, and messed up. But again, it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t draw his eyes away from Louis, not when the boy was basically some kind of angel who’d tasked himself with the job of being by Harry’s side for the rest of forever. 

Harry was snapped out of his self-deprecating moment by a tentative voice. ”Haz?”

He looked up from his palms, self-conscious of how pale he probably looked and how shaky he was.

Surprisingly (not-so-surprisingly), Louis was there, crouching beside him in an instinct and resting a soft hand on the curly boy’s shoulder. 

It was petty, ridiculously petty, but Harry slapped his hand off with a high-pitched noise of dissent in the back of his throat, hiding his face behind his folded up knees. 

”Harry,” Louis murmured, shocked at the harsh gesture as he drew back, rubbing his other thumb over where Harry had hit, the skin a little red and irritated. “What was that for? Are you alright? You’re shaking, love. I can go get you some water, if you’d like? Or - -“

Harry cut him off. “Louis, go away. Please. ‘M fine. Just need a minute.”

Louis glared at him, using his pointer finger to jab Harry in the middle of his chest. “Don’t tell me to piss off, Harry.” He paused, inhaling sharply, centring himself.

”Don’t brush me off. I know you better than to believe you when you say you’re fine, _especially_ when you’re mad at me, and it’s insulting that you don’t realise that. I care about you so much, Harry, and I can see you’re hurting.” 

Fighting back the urge to cry, Harry returned the glare unsteadily, chewing at his lip. He didn’t let himself feel guilty - there’d be plenty of time for that later. “You’d know what’s wrong if you’d been watching me instead of _flirting_ so hard with a _married_ man that you managed to somehow make _Niall_ uncomfortable. S’fucked up, Lou.” 

Louis jolted a little, hands still kept strictly to himself. “I - - I don’t...” He shook himself out, still fighting back the urge to touch Harry, to draw him into his chest and make soothing patterns on the boy’s back with the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t mean to flirt with Robbie.”

It was blunt and sincere, and Harry could feel his eyes burning. 

”Yeah?” He asked, a little choked up. He wanted Louis to hold him, like he usually did when Harry was upset. “Then why’d you do it? He has kids, Lou, and a wife. Jesus.” 

Louis cautiously reached out to pull Harry to his chest, and Harry went with it, no urge to fight left in his body. He shouldn’t have made such a big deal of it, anyway. It was stupid. 

”I know,” Louis whispered into Harry’s hair, gently rubbing circles into the boy’s back. “I don’t know why I was doing it. I don’t think I realised I was doing it, honestly. He - - he’s my childhood idol, Haz. I think I just got sucked in a bit.”

He pressed a kiss to the boy’s curls, making Harry squirm a little. “I’m sorry, Haz. If you’re mad at me, I can go away, if you’d like. Just let you have a minute and we can talk through it later.”

Harry had never despised an idea in his lifetime as much as he did that one. “No. Stay. ‘M not mad. Just - - just upset. Anxious.”

The younger boy could feel Louis shake his head in something like disbelief before he spoke again. “Well, you should be mad at me, even I didn’t mean to make you feel so upset and overwhelmed. It was completely shitty of me. I - - you told me how nervous you were for this, yet I didn’t look after you when I promised I always would, yeah? It’s your right to be mad at me.” 

Harry shook his head, arms tight around Louis’ curvy waist. “It’s not your job to look after me, Lou. I shouldn’t be so worked up over - - over not having your attention. It’s petty. It’s not your responsibility to guide me through anxiety attacks.” 

Louis snorted, tapping out the rhythm to the song they’d been rehearsing in between Harry’s shoulder blades. “Lies. Of course it’s my job to look after you. I’m your best-friend for a reason.”

Harry - - he melted a little, going completely relaxed and pliant in Louis’ arms with a little sigh escaping from between his lips. “That means it’s also my job to look after you.”

He didn’t need to see Louis’ face to know he was smiling. “Yeah, Haz. Yeah.” 

—

Rehearsal was much smoother running after they’d returned, and Harry was feeling much more relaxed whenever he was confronted with the occurrence of talking to Robbie.

Better yet, Louis wasn’t glued to the man’s side anymore, and was instead making sure to check up on Harry and make sure he wasn’t panicking whenever possible.

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. 

|||

_(10 th of December)_

“Louuu,” Harry whined into Louis’ ear while they were cuddled up on the sofa in the living space of the _House,_ watching some documentary that neither of them were actually paying much attention to. Zayn was sitting on one of the beanbags, eyes trained the television like some kind of honing beacon, and Louis could only find it within himself to be a little concerned before his attention turned fully to Harry.

“S’up, Curly?” He asked curiously, bringing up a hand to run through his best friend’s curls. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No!” Harry was quick to reassure, eyelashes fluttering nervously as he cuddled closer to the warmth of Louis’ body and sighed a little. “No, no, I’m fine. I was just, y’know, thinking about, uhm, well.”

He cut himself off, ruffling his curls up with a violent shake of his head. “About us moving in together after the show.”

Louis heart gave a valiant kick in his chest and he felt his cheeks flush crimson and his lips stretch into a fond smile without his permission. “Yeah?” He prompted. “What about it?”

“Well, uhm, shouldn’t we at least start looking at places we’d be interested to move into after the show?” Harry sounded ridiculously nervous as he said it, shifting in Louis’ embrace and shaking out his curls sporadically to try and steel his nerves.

He was definitely right, though, and had no reason to be as anxious as he appeared, since they’d had confirmation from one of their mums that it was alright to start going through the early stages of flat hunting.

Louis hummed in the back of his throat to signify that and pressed a sloppy kiss to Harry’s cheek, making the boy giggle like a child and squirm in Louis’ grasp again. “You certainly have a point,” Louis told him, already fumbling in his pocket for his Blackberry and pulling it out to pass to Harry. “How about we just do a little browse now, huh? Get some ideas of what we’re looking for.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed happily, tapping out Louis’ password to his phone and opening up the internet without so much as a glance in any other direction. Louis couldn’t help but be swamped with overwhelmingly fondness for this angel of a boy, so excited over the mere prospect of moving in with his maybe-more-than-that best-friend. Could anybody really blame Louis for feeling so incredibly happy?

He didn’t think so.

“What’re you two up to now?” Zayn called back from his beanbag, having paused the documentary on the television – something about the life cycle of the average human, horrifyingly boring – to click away on his own phone, probably texting his mum.

“Looking for flats,” Louis told him, watching as Harry pulled up a real estate site with a little hum in the back of his throat that sounded like a self-congratulatory noise. He already had a few ideas on how they could afford the more expensive ones, things he’d have to clear with Simon before they could actually _buy_ or rent a place, but he’d already told Harry that and both of them were well aware of it. What they were doing then was just looking for places they’d be interested in – nothing more, nothing less.

And possibly writing down contact details for later, but whatever.

”Whatcha doin’ that for?” Zayn questioned, moving over to the other two and plopping himself down on the sofa at the other end, eyes still trained on his phone as he typed away. “S’one of you moving or summat?”

Louis snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, Z. We’re moving in together after the show.”

Making a surprised sound in the back of his throat, Zayn finally looked up with wide eyes. “Come again?”

”We’re moving to London together after the show,” Harry supplied happily, clicking on an ad and beginning to read through the details.

Looking surprised yet not, Zayn shuffled closer to the two boys to peer over at the phone. “Are you guys sure this is a good idea?” He asked in a soft voice.

Harry made an affronted noise in the back of his throat and pouted at Zayn while Louis stayed quiet. The older boy had been thinking the same thing - was it really smart for them to be moving in together with everything else in their lives swirling around them at a wickedly fast pace? 

”We want to do it,” Harry responded firmly, averting his eyes from Zayn in the process. The boy had a little contemplative frown on his face, meeting Louis’ eyes for a moment or so, before he relaxed and nodded. 

”Okay,” he murmured, reading through the ad details on Louis’ phone screen. “Okay, just wanted to make sure. Everything is just insane at the moment.”

Laughing dryly, Louis responded with a, “Yeah, it really fucking is,” to which Harry snorted and Zayn rolled his eyes.

Harry shoved the phone under Louis’ nose, making him jerk a little in surprise. 

”Lou, look at this one.”

Gently taking his phone back, Louis read over the heading of the ad. “Princess Park Manor,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the screen to clear away some of the remaining dust. “Sounds fancy. Like, ridiculously fancy.” 

Zayn was reading over the heading too, and all three boys gasped as they scrolled through the pictures.

”It’s basically a mansion flat,” Zayn breathed, sounding awed.

”Five floors!” Harry exclaimed, voice cracking. 

Louis was smiling as he looked through the photos, adamantly ignoring what was going to be an insane price. He clicked off his phone, Harry and Zayn making noises of protest.

”Let’s discuss contracts ‘n stuff with Simon before we decide on anything,” Louis told Harry in a small voice, feeling his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’ve organised to meet with him after the show about it. We can look at more choices then, but let’s not get sold on anything that we might not end up being allowed to buy.”

Harry cuddled closer into Louis’ side, grumbling his hesitant agreement. Zayn was watching them with fond eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

”I’m glad you two are figuring things out,” he said affectionately, and Louis shot him a little thumbs up in response.

|||

_(11 th of December)_

Louis was woken up by an insistent prodding in the middle of his chest, murmured and unintelligible words being whispered into his ear.

He groaned, blinking his eyes open slowly and meeting Harry’s blindingly green gaze, making his breath catch in his chest. 

”What’ssit, Haz?” He slurred, cuddling closer to Harry’s warm body and making the younger boy laugh tiredly. They’d fallen asleep spooning as they usually did - Louis pressed tightly to Harry’s back and their hands linked on Harry’s chest, but Harry had shifted around to face him, curls tickling Louis’ noise, and Louis didn’t really mind.

”S’the eleventh today,” Harry whispered back, suppressing a yawn. His voice was all sleep-ridden and raspy, slower and deeper than usual, and Louis found himself shuddering a little as he processed it. “We’re performing with Robbie.”

Louis felt that familiar jolt of excitement stir up in his chest, but he also felt the overwhelming sense of peacefulness, just cuddled up with Harry in bed at some time in the morning. He didn’t want to get up - he wanted to savour the moment they were trapped in. 

“Gotta get up soon,” Harry continued, and Louis just grunted in response, letting his eyes flutter closed again. He couldn't hear the other boys in the room at all, not even their rustling and sleepy intakes of breath, which made him think that he and Harry were the last two to get up. He’d have to thank the boys later for letting them sleep in after so many weeks of ridiculously timed wake-up calls.

“Don’t wanna.”

Harry laughed again, all soft and lovely. “But we have to, Lou. Gotta rehearse so we make it to the semi-final.” 

Right. The semi-final. The stage they’d make it to if they got through their performances of the night and the judges deemed them good enough. Louis had to admit that sure, sleep sounded beyond inviting, but also making it through to the semis and then _maybe_ the official final afterwards was also a stupidly enticing thought. 

”In a minute,” he conceded, and he took the little sigh from Harry as agreement as they cuddled closer, sleepy and clingy and soft. 

It ended up being much longer than a minute, and the two boys were shaken gently awake around an hour later by their bandmates.

”Wake-up call,” Liam announced quietly, smiling and running a hand through Louis’ messy sleep-induced hair, careful not to knock Harry where the boy had buried his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “S‘almost nine in the morning, guys. We gotta rehearse soon.” 

Making a low noise of protest in the back of his throat, Louis blinked his eyes open slowly like a tired kitten, glaring at his three other bandmates standing at the side of the bunk. Harry whined a little, shuffling closer and pulling the blanket tighter around the two of them, all warm and safe. 

”Do we have to?” Harry mumbled into Louis’ skin, the extra hour of sleep having turned him into a pile of pliant and uncoordinated limbs in Louis’ arms. “‘M sleepy.”

”Did you two fuck or sum’?” Niall demanded teasingly, smacking Louis over the head and making him hiss, jerking backwards with Harry still clinging tightly to him.

”Nope,” Louis responded, popping the ‘p’ around a huge yawn. “Just exhausted. Had a big week.”

Zayn snorted, slowly pulling the blanket back from the boys, surprised to see that they were both in boxers instead of it just being Louis like it usually was. Harry whimpered at the cold air hitting his exposed back, curling in tighter to Louis’ body heat and tangling their legs together. “Fuck off, Zayn. S’cold.”

”No, it’s not,” the boy retaliated, smiling. “Lou is just ridiculously warm. It’s actually a nice temperature out here today.” 

Louis sighed, gently untangling himself from Harry and sitting up, leaning on his forearm. “C’mon Haz,” he whispered, tucking a little curl behind the boy’s ear. “Time to get up.” 

—

It took them around an hour and a half to get ready, Harry almost falling asleep while he was in the shower and prompting Niall to drag him out and help the boy dress without knocking himself unconscious. Louis had been tugging some shoes on when it had happened, and he’d had to fight off the urge to shove Niall away and take Harry into his own arms instead.

Maybe sleeping in together had changed something between them. Like, Harry had completely tangled himself up in Louis’ arms, and Louis had held him so close they looked like the same person.

Louis didn’t really want to linger on those thoughts. 

Eventually making their way down to the studio to rehearse their performances, they practiced with Robbie for an hour or so before moving on to the staging and choreography for their own performance. 

Harry basically collapsed into Louis’ side after they were dismissed and told to linger around in the main studio for Kaya and Charlie to come down for the styling, the younger boy completely pliant and having to work excessively hard to suppress a series of yawns.

The horrifyingly sugary breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup the Sainsbury ladies had treated them to that morning was slowly kicking in though, reducing their exhaustion levels enough for them to have energy to perform. Louis just figured it was working slower for Harry, which was usually what happened with sugar. 

The acts all end up mingling and joking around in the wardrobes, playing FIFA on the communal PlayStation Matt had stolen from upstairs, Louis absolutely smashing Zayn with a score of 4-1, the two boys sitting on the couch and leaning forward, controller’s clutched in their slightly sweaty palms. Zayn was cursing steadily under his breath and Louis was grinning, somehow managing to simultaneously bite at the inside of his cheek.

Harry was slung over the older boy’s lap, curls messy and ticklish where they brushed Louis’ skin, but Louis didn’t mind as he continued to slip past one of Zayn’s defending players with a triumphant shriek.

Matt was starfished out on the beanbags at the foot of the sofa, craning his head backwards to watch the TV and cheer for whoever had the ball (because he was indecisive and felt bad if he only chose one side. Louis found it ridiculously endearing). 

Niall and Liam were off messing around with Rebecca, the three of them passing around dumb banter and jokes like they always did. 

Charlie and Kaya had entered the wardrobe at some point, Charlie walking past and pressing a fond kiss to Harry’s forehead and making the boy laugh adorably before the stylist moved past to steal Rebecca away and get started on her hair with usage of combs and spray that nobody else could really understand. Kaya had drifted away with a wave to the room, collecting the costumes for the night, her usual purple hair tinted with streaks of gold that Louis hadn’t noticed before. 

Just as Matt was called away for rehearsals, Charlie came back with Bex in tow, looking jittery and playful, for lack of better words. Zayn had just gotten his first win against Louis in FIFA, so Louis grinned straight Charlie as he smacked his friend over the back of the head, making Harry giggle like a little kid.

The moment was broken a little while later.

”Haz!” Charlie called over, patting Bex’s shoulder in a manner of farewell as he departed from the girl’s side, coming over to the sofa. “Wanna get your nails done up before the show? I can do a nude colour so you don’t get in trouble or anything.” 

Harry lifted his head from where he’d crammed it underneath Louis’ chin to watch Charlie with wide eyes. “You serious?” He asked, bewildered. “We’re allowed to?”

Louis couldn't say he was surprised when Charlie smirked, the stylist shaking his head and effectively messing up his hair. “Not really, but like, who’s gonna notice if it’s nude? It blends in enough that it won’t be seen on camera, but it’s still noticeable enough for you to know it’s there.” 

Hesitating, Harry tilted his head back to look at Louis, almost like he was asking for confirmation. Zayn took that moment to cut in, setting down his PlayStation controller and nudging Harry pointedly in the ribs, jostling him in Louis’ lap and making Louis’ skin corrupt into goosebumps. “I’d love that, even if Hazza won’t,” the Bradford boy told Charlie, who looked at him with surprise evident in his expression. “Got anything with sparkles or summat?”

Grinning, Charlie nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Zayn, isn’t it? You’re one of Kaya’s favourites. Kind of a shame I’ve never had the pleasure of working with you before.”

Zayn smirked right back, holding out a hand for Charlie to shake, the boy complying almost instantly. “Kaya’s a dream to work with, really, but you seem cooler. Don’t tell her I said that.”

They disconnected with shared laughter, and Louis and Harry shared a disbelieving look before Harry spoke again.

”I’ll do a nude colour,” he said cautiously, afraid of getting in trouble off Simon again. Louis subconsciously clutched him closer, ignoring the burning in his cheeks. “Just don’t wanna get in trouble again.”

Resting a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder momentarily before he moved off towards the racks of nail care items, Charlie murmured, “You won’t. I’ll take care of it if you do.” 

Louis shifted Harry in his lap so he could watch with an unobscured view as Charlie dragged a bench and chair over for him to use, setting it up in front of the sofa and setting down two rolled up towels for Zayn to rest his wrists on. The oldest member of the band had used to paint Lottie and Fizzy’s nails (and sometimes his own) back home when things weren’t going well, so he found it relaxing and almost therapeutic to watch as Charlie began filing at the few uneven edges of Zayn’s nails, having collected some sparkly and plain nude polishes to use.

”You sure you don’t want yours done too, Louis?” Charlie asked as he finished runnong lotion over Zayn’s skin and prepping his nails for painting, untwisting the brush from the little bottle and beginning to stroke over the boy’s nails in wide strokes with it. Louis smiled, shaking his head with a little, “Maybe next time, Charlie. Thanks, though.” 

Making a noise in the back of his throat to indicate that he’d heard, Charlie got back to work on Zayn’s nails, the sparkles in the polish catching the light if they were examined at the right angle. 

Around thirty minutes later, the boys had been thrown on stage, Zayn, Niall and Harry adorning freshly done nails.

They couldn’t stop grinning. 

—

“The second act through to the next stage of the _X Factor_ final is…”

“One Direction.”

They were through.

 _They’d done it_.

  
|||

_(12th of December)_

Louis received a phone call from Simon a little before they had to go downstairs and prepare for the show.

 _”Hi boys,”_ Simon greeted, voice tinny where it came through the speakers of the phone. Louis boosted the volume as the boys moved in closer, Harry’s chin digging into his shoulder and Zayn’s elbow shoved unforgivingly into his ribs, but Louis didn’t dare make a noise of dissent or shove them away. 

“Hello, Simon,” Louis said back, voice unsteady and wavering on each vowel, waiting for the man to continue.

_”Well, I’ll keep this brief, considering you have to make your way down to rehearsals in a minute. I hope you boys are feeling confident about tonight, but anyway, that isn’t what I’ve phoned to discuss.”_

He broke off to catch his breath before continuing to speak. _“I’ve organised a meeting for just the six of us tomorrow morning. A fraction of the subject topic does in fact depend on tonight’s results, but a substantial amount does not. Does ten thirty work?”_

Louis thought he might just throw up if he opened his mouth, so he nudged Liam pointedly in a gesture to make the boy respond.

”Yes, Simon, that’ll work for us,” Liam said monotonously, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. “Thank you.” 

_“Excellent,”_ Simon said through the phone. _“Thank you for being so cooperative. Keep in mind that I’ll be coming past to check in before it gets too late. Don’t forget that we’ve booked rooms at the W London for you and your families tonight.”_

It was a clear dismissal, so Louis waited until Simon hung up the phone before he ushered his boys downstairs, bubbling with anxious energy ready to overflow.

—

Nobody was speaking in the wardrobe that night. Louis was curled up in Harry’s embrace, shaking like a leaf, the two of them already dressed and adorning the necessary makeup while they watched their bandmates get prepped and fancied up.

”I’m so scared,” Louis whispered into Harry’s neck, balling himself up tighter as the younger boy held him close, silent other than his gentle breathing. It didn’t matter that usually Harry was the little spoon, Louis loving making him feel safe, because it felt right in the moment for Harry to be holding the older boy together in the warmth of his arms.

”Don’t be,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “You have nothing to be scared about, Lou. _We_ have nothing to be scared about.” 

Louis didn’t respond, only cuddling closer and exhaling softly. 

—

Harry was gripping Louis’ hand so tight the older boy was fearful of his circulation stopping as they moved into their places for their first song of the night. The lights were still firmly off, providing the boys with a little shelter from the screaming crowd and raucous applause, and Louis just wanted to hold them all close. 

As Liam broke into the first line of _Torn,_ Louis couldn’t help but feel like he was coming home. 

Back to the innocence of the Bungalow, five boys who’d just recently been strangers learning each other by the fireplace with Niall’s soft guitar and their voices twining together like that was all they were meant to do. 

They sound _perfect._ Better than any of their past rehearsals, a thousand times better than their stumbling performance back at Judges’ Houses of the same damn song. They’d cracked it open. 

Louis intertwined his voice with Harry’s as they paraded into the chorus and suddenly he couldn’t breathe properly, heat swarming his lungs and chest and goosebumps lining his skin and dizziness in his head that almost sent him crashing to the floor right then and there.

They really were perfect. 

Louis tilted his head back and sung his heart out for _you’re a little late, I’m already torn_ and he can’t even feel himself reaching out to touch Harry, just for the slightest moment, drawn to him like a magnet. 

Louis thought his heart stopped beating when Harry reached back.

—

Matt got through first. It wasn’t a shock to anybody, really, and Louis couldn’t find it within himself to applaud as enthusiastically as he usually would do, instead focusing on not vomiting all over his, Harry and Simon’s nice shoes. 

Louis looked over to Zayn, the faint sparkle of his nail polish surprisingly calming in the swirling moment. He hung on to the moment, breathing in for two and out for two, trying to circulate the oxygen in his veins properly. 

Dermot inhaled sharply into the microphone, and Louis just had to steal a quick glance at Harry. Harry didn’t look back, too busy on looking like he was trying not to keel over. Louis gritted his teeth and pulled his eyes away. 

“The second act still in the final is… Rebecca.”

_Wait._

Oh. _Oh.  
_

Bex was crying, sobbing, and so was Liam, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot already. Zayn was frozen in his place, entirely dumbstruck, empty of any kind of motive to process what had just been announced to the nation. 

Niall was slack jawed, eyes fluttering around the room as if somebody was about to come out and invalidate Dermot’s words, turn them into what they’d all wanted. _Needed._

Louis didn’t dare look at Harry, knowing that if he saw the boy crying, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crying, too. 

There was a looking pit where his stomach used to be. It was over. 

Dermot gently shuffled them to the middle of the stage and introduced the video of their _X-Factor_ journey as though he hadn’t just crushed their dreams within one sentence.

Harry at his audition. Louis right after. The last day of bootcamp, and the formation of the band. Louis leaping into Harry’s arms like he belonged there. The Judges’ Houses performance, with their dumb shaggy hair and Louis’ flicked-off microphone and Zayn trying to hide himself behind Liam. Simon sending them through, and their first group hug on camera. There were the live shows, each and every one of them, the Harry Potter premiere and Beatles week and the England versus France game and more songs. 

The six most important months of Louis’ life, and they’d been spun together into a ninety second video. It made him want to break down into tears. 

“Zayn,” Dermot said in his classic presenter voice, leaning across Louis. “What’s going to happen to One Direction now?”

Zayn didn’t hesitate. “We’re definitely gonna stay together. This isn’t the last of One Direction.”

—

Matt was announced as the winner later in the evening after the boys had been reunited with their families, and Louis found himself lost in the crowd. He’d just caught wind of what Harry had whispered to Matt _on camera_ and had been too busy laughing to realise he’d been passed around like a toy between people, being hugged and crushed and celebrated a thousand times over.

Louis found Harry across the room, and froze. Harry’s eyes were watery, smile soft on his face, gaze hopeful and beautiful and hair all messy. 

Louis knew it then. He’d known it for a long time - ever since he’d thrown himself into Harry’s arms that fateful day at bootcamp - but he’d never let himself recognise it. Never let himself truly know it.

He did now.

Harry was it. There was nobody after Harry.

Harry was his everything. 

There wasn’t a single final comment before the final live show was closed off for good, the end of an era, no last announcement from Dermot to finish up, just celebration and tears and Harry and Louis crashing together, limbs locked in place around each other like puzzle pieces, fitting into their rightful places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand cut! End scene!  
> I hope you guys have enjoyed this fic so far. It's taken over a rather substantial amount of time in my life - a scary fact, sure, but one I'm not sad about - and it's lovely to see that it's paying off. Thank you everybody for your wonderful support thus far and I can't wait to see your reactions as I continue to update this!  
> IMPORTANT NOTE:  
> There’ll be around two-three weeks before I post the next chapter of this (the first entry of Part Two!), so I’m in the process of writing another fic to tide you guys over until I update this again. It’ll be out within the next week or so (if everything goes to plan), so get excited for that! psst! enemies to lovers, soulmates and fluff & angst.  
> Have a fantastic day!


	9. Author's Note

Hi everyone.

It's been a while since I've updated this fic, and I really just want to apologise and explain why.

I'm officially right at the brink of exams (I've already sat two and am currently supposed to be studying for my Biology assessment right now... Oops) and I literally have just not had any time for anything else besides focusing my energy on my grades. I'm so fucking tired as I've hardly been sleeping, and I also have to balance the sporting commitments I have on simultaneously. 

So, there are my excuses for the inactivity. Again, I'm so fucking sorry because I **know** some of you have been waiting for a long time for another update on this, but I just can't promise you that there'll be one until the end of the school term (I finish on the 1st of April and then have three weeks off before Term 2 starts up). What I _can_ promise is that I'll be updating both this and my new fic consistently during that time!

Thank you for being so patient and for reading this disjointed note.

All the love,

S.


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